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ANATHEMA 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA  •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


ANATHEMA 

0  tlPnigeD^  m  $>eben  ^cmti 


BY 

LEONID   ANDREYEV 


AUTHORIZED    TRANSLATION    BY 

HERMAN   BERNSTEIN 


Nito  gorft 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

1910 

Ail  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1909, 
By  HERMAN  BERNSTEIN. 

CoiTfRIGHT,    1910, 

By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 
Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  October,  1910, 


Norfaiooti  ^vtee 

J.  8.  CuBhlng  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


"  /  myself  shall  bring  them  bread  and  milk. 
.  .  .  Children  are  so  tender.  .  .  .  They  need 
so  little;  they  eat  a  little  crust  of  bread  and 
they  have  enough;  they  drink  a  cup  of  milk 
and  they  know  no   thirst  any  longer.     Then 

they  sing.    ..."  —David  Leizer. 


Co 
NATHAN    STRAUS 

WHO   SO  GENEROUSLY   SAVED  THE   LIVES   OF 

THOUSANDS   OF   CHILDREN 

THE   TRANSLATION  OF   THIS   WORK 

IS  HEARTILY  DEDICATED 

BY 

HERMAN  BERNSTEIN 


9439^9 


CHARACTERS 

Guardian  of  the  Entrances 
Anathema 


David  Leizer 

Sarah,  his  wife 

Naum  ] 

_  \  their  children 

Rosa  J 

Ivan  Bezkrainy  ] 

SoNKA  ZiTRON     [  tradespeople 

purikes  j 

Dancing-master 

Young  Man 

Pale  Man 

Organ-grinder 

Wanderer 

Abraham  Khessin 

Weeping  Woman 

Woman  with  Child  in  her  Arms 

Drunkard 

Sonka's  Little  Girl 

Leibke 

Musicians,  Blind  People,  Crowd 


PROLOGUE 


ANATHEMA 


PROLOGUE. 

The  scene  represents  a  wild,  deserted  place,  the  slope  of  a 
mountain  rising  to  infinite  heights.  In  the  rear  of 
the  stage,  halfway  up  the  mountain,  huge  iron  gates, 
tightly  closed,  indicate  the  boundary  of  the  world  as  we 
conceive  it.  Beyond  the  iron  gates,  which  oppress  the 
earth  with  their  enormous  weight,  in  silence  and  in 
mystery,  dwells  the  Beginning  of  every  being,  the 
Supreme  Wisdom  of  the  universe. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Gates  stands  Someone  guarding  the  entrances, 
leaning  upon  a  long  sword,  perfectly  motionless. 
Garbed  in  wide  clothes,  which  are  like  stone  in  the 
motionlessness  of  their  folds  and  creases.  He  hides 
His  face  beneath  a  dark  cover,  and  is  Himself  the 
greatest  of  mysteries.  Standing  on  the  boundary 
separating  two  worlds,  he  is  dual  in  his  make-up;  —  in 
appearance  a  man,  in  reality  a  spirit.  An  arbitrator 
between  two  worlds,  He  is  like  unto  a  huge  shield, 
which  gathers  all  bolts,  —  cdl  looks,  all  entreaties, 
all  expectations,  reproaches,  and  curses.  The  bearer  of 
two  elements.  He  wraps  his  speech  in  silence,  which  is 
like  the  silence  of  the  iron  gates,  and  sometimes  in 
human  words. 

Amidst  the  rocks,  looking  around  on  all  sides  strangely  and 
shyly,  appears  Anathema,  someone  accursed.  Cling- 
3 


ANATHEMA  [prologue 

ing  to  the  grey  rocks,  himself  grey,  cautious  and  flexible, 
like  a  serpent  seeking  a  hole,  he  goes  stealthily  and  quietly 
to  the  Guardian  of  the  Entrances,  desiring  to  strike  him 
with  an  unexpected  blow.  But  he  is  frightened  by  his 
own  audacity  and,  jumping  to  his  feet,  laughs  defiantly 
and  maliciously.  Then  he  sits  down  on  a  rock,  with 
an  air  of  freedom  and  independence,  and  throws  small 
cobblestones  at  the  feet  of  the  Guardian  of  the  En- 
trances; —  cunning,  he  conceals  his  fear  beneath  the 
mask  of  raillery  and  slight  audacity.  In  the  faint, 
grey,  almost  colorless  light,  the  head  of  the  accursed  one 
seems  enormous;  especially  large  is  his  high  forehead, 
which  is  furrowed  by  wrinkles  of  fruitless  reflections  and 
unsolvable  eternal  problems.  Anathema's  thin  beard 
is  perfectly  grey;  his  hair,  once  jet  black,  is  also 
greyish,  rising  on  his  head  in  disordered  tufts.  Rest- 
less in  his  movements,  he  is  vainly  trying  to  conceal 
his  alarm  and  his  purposeless  haste,  which  are 
forever  devouring  him.  Endeavoring  to  emulate 
the  proud  stillness  of  the  Guardian  of  the  En- 
trances, he  grows  quiet  for  an  instant  in  the  pose 
of  proud  majesty,  but  the  very  next  moment,  in 
painful  quest  after  the  eternally  elusive,  he  wriggles 
in  mute  spasms,  like  a  worm  under  foot.  And-  in  his 
questions  he  is  rapid  and  impetuous  like  a  whirlwind, 
drawing  strength  and  fury  in  his  mad  whirl.  .  .  . 


Anathema. 

You  are  still  here  on  guard?  And  I  thought 
you  were  away,  —  even  a  chained  dog  has  his 
moments  of  rest  or  sleep,  even  though  the  whole 
world  be  his  kennel  and  Eternity  his  master! 
Is  Eternity  afraid  of  thieves  ?  But  do  not  be  angry. 
I  have  come  to  you  as  a  good  friend  and  I  implore 
humbly  :  Open  the  heavy  Gates  for  an  instant  and 
allow  me  to  have  a  ghmpse  of  Eternity.  You  dare 
not  ?  But  perhaps  the  mighty  gates  have  cracked 
from  age,  and  the  unfortunate,  honest  Anathema 
could  peep  into  the  narrow  cleft,  without  disturb- 
ing any  one,  —  show  me  it  with  a  sign.  Softly, 
on  my  belly,  will  I  crawl  over,  I  will  glance  at  it 
and  crawl  back,  —  and  He  will  not  know.  But 
I  shall  know  and  become  a  God,  become  a  God,  a 
God!  I  have  so  long  wanted  to  become  a  God  — 
and  would  I  be  a  poor  God  ?    Look  ! 

He  assumes  a  haughty  pose,  but  immediately  bursts  into 
laughter.  Then  he  sits  down  calmly  on  a  flat  rock 
and,  folding  his  legs  under  him,  takes  out  dice.  He 
mutters  something  to  himself,  yet  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  by  the  Guardian  of  the  Entrances. 
S 


6  ANATHEMA  [prologue 

If  you  don't  want  to  you  need  not  do  it,  — 
I  shall  not  fight  with  you.  Have  I  come  here 
for  that  purpose?  I  simply  roamed  about  the 
world  and  came  here  by  mere  accident  —  I  have 
nothing  to  do,  so  I  roam  about.  And  now  I 
am  going  to  throw  dice.  If  He  were  not  so  seri- 
ous, I  would  have  invited  Him,  too,  —  but  He  is 
too  proud,  too  proud,  and  He  does  not  understand 
the  pleasure  of  the  game.  Six,  eight,  twenty  — 
correct !  It's  always  correct  when  the  Devil 
plays,  even  when  he  plays  honestly.  .  .  .  David 
Leizer  .  .  .  David  Leizer  .  .  . 

Turning  to  tlie  Guardian  of  the  Entrances,  he  speaks  fredy. 

Do  you  know  David  Leizer  ?  You  surely  do  not 
know  him.  He  is  a  sick  and  foolish  old  Jew, 
whom  no  one  knows,  and  even  your  Master  has 
forgotten  about  him.  So  says  David  Leizer,  and 
I  cannot  help  beUeving  him  —  he  is  a  foolish,  but 
honest  man.  He  is  the  man  I  have  won  just 
now  with  my  dice  —  you  saw  it :  six,  eight,  twenty. 
.  .  .  One  day  I  met  David  Leizer  by  the  seashore, 
when  he  was  questioning  what  the  waves  were 
complaining  of ;  and  I  liked  him.  He  is  a  foolish, 
but  honest  man,  and  if  he  should  be  well 
tarred  and  lighted,  he  would  make  a  brilliant 
torch  for  my  feast. 


prologue]  anathema  7 

Chatting  with  feigned  ease,  he  steps  over  softly  to  the  rock 
nearest  the  Guardian. 

No  one  knows  David  Leizer,  but  I  shall  make  him 
famous,  I  shall  make  him  mighty  and  great  —  it  is 
very  possible  that  I  shall  even  make  him  immortal ! 
You  do  not  beheve  me  ?  No  one  believes  the  wise 
Anathema,  even  when  he  speaks  the  truth  —  and 
who  loves  the  truth  more  than  Anathema  does? 
Perhaps  you  ?  You  silent  dog,  you  who  have  stolen 
the  truth  from  the  world,  you  who  have  barred  the 
entrances  with  iron!  .  .  . 

He  rushes  furiously  toward  the  Guardian  of  the  Entrances, 
but  retreats  from  the  stern,  motionless  Guardian,  with  a 
shriek  of  horror  and  pain.  And  he  speaks  plaintively, 
falling  with  his  grey  chest  upon  the  grey  rock. 

Oh,  the  Devil's  hair  is  grey !  Weep,  you  who 
have  grown  fond  of  Anathema!  Wail  and  grieve, 
you  who  are  striving  toward  Truth,  who  are 
honoring  wisdom  —  Anathema's  hair  is  grey ! 
Who  will  help  the  son  of  Dawn?  He  is  alone  in 
the  universe.  Wherefore,  O  Great  One,  have  you 
frightened  the  fearless  Anathema  —  he  did  not 
intend  to  strike  you,  he  only  wanted  to  approach 
you.    May  I  come  over  to  you  ?    TeU  me. 

The  Guardian  of  the  Entrances  is  silent,  but  to  Anathema 
it  seems  that  he  hears  something  in  the  silence.  Out- 
stretching his  serpentine  neck,  he  shouts  passionately. 


8  ANATHEMA  [prologue 

Louder !  Louder !  Are  you  silent,  or  did  you 
speak?  I  do  not  understand.  The  accursed  one 
has  a  sensitive  ear  and  discerns  the  shades  of  certain 
words  in  your  silence ;  he  feels  a  vague  movement 
of  thoughts  in  your  motionlessness,  —  but  he  does 
not  understand.  Did  you  speak  or  are  you  silent  ? 
Did  you  say:  ''Come," or  did  it  only  sound  so 
to  me  ? 

The  Guardian. 
Come. 

Anathema. 
You  said  it,  but  I  dare  not  come  up  to  you. 


Come. 


I  am  afraid. 


Guardian. 


Anathema. 


He  advances  toward  the  Guardian  irresolutely,  in  zigzag 
movements;  lies  down  on  his  belly  and  crawls,  wailing 
with  longing  and  fear. 

Oh,  I  the  prince  of  darkness,  wise  and  powerful, 
and  yet  you  see  —  I  am  crawling  on  my  belly  like 
a  dog.  And  I  am  doing  it  because  I  love  you, 
I  want  to  kiss  the  hem  of  your  cloak.    But  why 


prologue]  anathema  9 

does  my  old  heart  ache  so  much?  Tell  me, 
Ommscient. 

Guardian. 
The  accursed  one  has  no  heart. 

Anathema. 
Advancing. 

Yes,  yes.  The  accursed  has  no  heart,  his  chest  is 
mute  and  motionless  like  the  grey  rock  which  does 
not  breathe.  Oh,  if  Anathema  had  a  heart,  you 
would  have  destroyed  him  long  ago  by  his  suffer- 
ings, even  as  you  destroy  the  foolish  man.  But 
Anathema  has  a  mind  that  is  searching  for  the 
Truth,  unprotected  against  your  blows  —  spare  it. 
.  .  .  Here  I  am  at  your  feet,  reveal  your  face  to 
me.  Only  for  an  instant,  as  brief  as  the  flash  of 
lightning,  —  reveal  your  face  to  me. 

He  cringes  servilely  at  the  feet  of  the  Guardian,  not  daring, 
however,  to  touch  his  cloak.  He  is  vainly  endeavoring 
to  lower  his  eyes,  which  are  quick  and  searching, 
sharp,  flashing  like  coals  beneath  grey  ashes.  The 
Guardian  is  silent  and  Anathema  continues  his  fruit- 
less and  persistent  entreaties. 

Do  you  not  want  to  do  it  ?  Then  call  the  name 
of  Him  who  is  beyond  the  Gates.  Call  it  in  a  soft 
voice,  and  no  one  will  hear  it ;   only  I  will  know 


lo  ANATHEMA  [prologue 

it,  the  wise  Anathema,  longing  for  Truth.  Is  it 
not  true  that  it  consists  of  seven  letters?  Or  of 
six?  Or  of  one?  Tell  me.  Only  one  letter  — 
and  you  will  save  the  accursed  one  from  eternal 
tortures,  and  the  earth,  which  I  am  tearing  with  my 
nails,  will  bless  you.  You  may  say  it  softly,  softly, 
you  may  only  breathe  it,  and  I  shall  understand  it, 
and  I  shall  bless  you.  .  .  .    Tell  me. 

The  Guardian  is  silent,  and  Anathema,  after  some  hesitation, 
full  of  fury,  crawls  away  slowly,  growing  bolder 
with  every  step. 

It  is  not  true  that  I  love  you.  ...  It  is  not  true 
that  I  wanted  to  kiss  the  hem  of  your  cloak.  .  .  . 
I  feel  sorry  for  you,  if  you  believed  me.  ...  I 
simply  have  nothing  to  do,  so  I  roam  about  in  the 
world.  ...  I  have  nothing  to  do,  so  I  question 
the  passers-by  about  this  and  that,  —  about  things 
I  know  myself.  ...    I  know  everything  ! 

He  rises,  shakes  himself  like  a  dog  that  has  just  come  out  of 
the  water,  and  choosing  the  highest  rock,  stands  up 
there  in  a  haughty,  actorlike  pose. 

I  know  everything.  With  my  wisdom  I  have  pene- 
trated the  meaning  of  all  things,  the  laws  of  num- 
bers are  known  to  me,  and  the  book  of  Fates  is 
open  to  me.  At  one  glance  I  embrace  life,  I  am  the 
axis  in  the  circle  of  time,  which  whirls  rapidly. 


prologue]  anathema  ii 

I  am  great,  I  am  mighty,  I  am  immortal,  and  man 
is  in  my  power.  Who  will  dare  struggle  with  the 
Devil?  The  strong,  I  kill,  and  the  weak  I  force 
to  whirl  about  in  an  intoxicating  dance,  a  mad 
dance,  a  deviHsh  dance.  I  have  poisoned  all  the 
sources  of  life,  on  all  its  roads  I  have  built  ambus- 
cades. ...  Do  you  hear  the  voice  of  those  who 
curse?  The  voice  of  those  who  are  exhausted 
under  the  burden  of  evil?  Of  those  who  dare  in 
vain?    Of  those  who  long  endlessly  and  terribly  ? 

Guardian. 
I  do. 

Anathema. 
Laughing. 

The  name !  Call  the  name !  Illumine  the  way 
for  the  Devil  and  for  man.  All  in  the  world  want 
goodness,  but  know  not  where  to  find  it;  all  in 
the  world  want  Hfe,  but  meet  only  death.  The 
name !  Call  the  name  of  goodness,  call  the  name 
of  eternal  life.    I  am  waiting  ! 

Guardian. 

There  is  no  name  for  that  which  you  ask,  Anathema. 
There  is  no  number  by  which  to  count,  no  measure 


12  ANATHEMA  [prologue 

by  which  to  measure,  no  scales  by  which  to  weigh 
that  which  you  ask,  Anathema.  Every  one  who 
has  said  the  word,  Love, — has  lied.  Every  one  who 
has  said  the  word.  Wisdom,  —  has  Ued.  And  even 
he  who  has  uttered  the  word,  God,  —  has  Ued 
with  the  greatest  and  most  terrible  Ke.  For  there 
is  no  number,  no  measure,  no  scale,  no  name  for 
that  which  you  ask,  Anathema. 

Anathema. 
Where  shall  I  go  ?    Tell  me. 

Guardian. 
Where  you  are  going. 

Anathema. 
What  shall  I  do  ?    Tell  me. 

Guardian. 
What  you  are  doing. 

Anathema. 

You  speak  through  silence  —  can  I  understand  the 
language  of  your  silence  ?    TeU  me. 


prologue]  anathema  13 

Guardian. 

No.  Never.  My  face  is  open,  but  you  see  it  not. 
My  speech  is  loud,  but  you  hear  it  not.  My 
commands  are  clear,  but  you  know  them  not, 
Anathema.  And  you  shall  never  see,  and  you  shall 
never  hear,  and  you  shall  never  know.  Anathema, 
unfortunate  spirit,  deathless  in  numbers,  eternally 
aHve  in  measures  and  in  weights,  but  as  yet  imbom 
to  life. 

Anathema. 

TormerUed. 

Never  ? 

Guardian. 

Never; 

Anathema  leaps  down  from  the  rocks,  and  tosses  about  madly, 
devoured  by  grief.  Clinging  to  the  rocks,  he  embraces 
them  tenderly  and  then  pushes  them  away  angrily; 
he  moans  bitterly.  He  turns  his  face  to  West  and 
East,  to  North  and  South  of  the  earth,  flourishing  his 
arms,  as  if  calling  the  earth  to  wrath  and  vengeance. 
But  the  grey  rocks  are  silent,  West  and  EcLst  are 
silent.  North  and  South  are  silent,  and  in  stern 
motionlessness,  heavily  leaning  on  his  sword,  stands 
the  Guardian  of  the  Entrances. 

Anathema. 

Rise,  0  Earth !  Rise,  O  Earth,  and  gird  your 
sword,  O  man.    There  will  be  no  peace  between 


14  ANATHEMA  [prologue 

you  and  Heaven ;  the  earth  is  becoming  the  abode 
of  darkness  and  death,  and  the  Prince  of  Darkness 
ascends  to  his  throne  upon  it  —  from  now  on  and 
forever.  I  am  going  to  you,  David.  I  will  hurl 
your  sad  life  towards  the  proud  heaven  like  a 
stone  from  a  sling  —  and  the  foundations  of  the 
high  heavens  will  tremble.  My  slave,  David ! 
With  your  lips  I  will  proclaim  the  truth  about  the 
fate  of  man. 

He  turns  to  the  Guardian  of  the  Entrances. 
And  you  !  .  .  . 

He  becomes  silent,  bashfully,  confused  by  the  Silence.  He 
stretches  himself  lazily,  as  from  tediousness,  and  mut- 
ters in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  Guardian 
of  the  Entrances. 

But  am  I  not  roaming  about,  because  I  have 
nothing  to  do  ?  I  have  been  here,  and  now  I  shall 
go  there.  Are  there  not  plenty  of  roads  for  the 
gay  Anathema,  who  is  fond  of  healthy  laughter 
and  a  carefree  jest  ?  Six.  .  .  .  That  means  that 
I  bring  to  David  a  fortune  which  he  does  not  ex- 
pect. .  .  .  Eight.  .  .  .  That  means  that  David 
Leizer  is  healing  the  sick  and  reviving  the  dead. 
Twenty.  .  .  .  Correct !  That  means  .  .  .  That 
means  that  David  and  I  come  to  express  our  grati- 
tude. David  Leizer,  the  great,  the  powerful,  the 
immortal  David  Leizer  and  I.  .  .  .    I  am  going. 


prologue]  anathema  15 

Anathema  departs. 

Silence.  The  rocks  are  silent;  the  mute  Gates,  pressing 
the  earth  with  their  enormous  weight,  are  silent;  the 
Guardian,  petrified,  is  silent. 

Silence.  But  did  not  Anathema's  footsteps  awaken  an 
alarming,  resounding  echo?  One,  two  —  some  heavy 
steps  are  heard  coming.  It  is  like  one  footstep, 
but  many  people  are  coming;  they  are  silent,  but 
the  silence  is  already  quivering.  A  momentary 
confusion  of  sounds,  of  helplessness  and  tremulous 
outbursts,  and  suddenly  the  silence  breaks  out  in 
high  yellow  flames  of  fire:  somewhere  below,  in  the 
invisible  distance,  on  earth,  long  trumpets,  carried  by 
hands  uplifted  high,  are  blaring  in  rebellious,  brass- 
like tones,  —  their  defiant  cry  of  revolt  is  turned  both 
to  earth  and  to  Heaven. 

One,  two,  —  now  it  is  clear  that  a  crowd  is  moving;  its 
monstrous  voice,  its  blended  and  separate  sobs,  its 
noisy  and  stormy  speech  is  heard;  and  below,  in 
the  labyrinth  from  broken  and  dark  passages,  the  first 
distinct  sound  rings  out :  ^'Da-a-vid!  "  It  grows  more 
distinct,  rises  higher,  and  now  it  soars  overhead  — 
on  the  wings  of  this  brass  fanfare,  above  the  heavy 
stamping  of  the  marching  feet. 

"  Da-a-vid  I    Da-a-a-vid  !    Da-a-a-vid  ! ' ' 

The  sounds  blend  harmoniously.  They  become  the  song  of 
millions  of  people.  The  trumpets  are  blaring, 
exhausted  ;  they  call  hoarsely  with  their  brass  voices- 
Does  the  Guardian  of  the  Entrances  hear  them  ?  The  grey 
rocks  are  covered  with  moans;  passionate  sobs  rise  to 
His  feet,  but  the  Guardian  is  motionless,  the  Guardian 
is  speechless,  and  the  iron  Gates  are  mute. 


i6  ANATHEMA  [prologue 

The  abyss  crashes. 

With  one  blow,  as  if  splitting  the  earth,  a  brass  roar  and  shout 
breaks  forth,  —  and  out  of  the  fragments,  like  a  spring 
from  a  rock  that  is  split  by  lightning,  a  soft,  harmoni- 
ous, bright  melody  comes  forth. 

Then  it  dies  out. 

Silence.    Immobility.    Expectation,  expectation,  expectation. 

Curtain 


ACT  ONE 

The  south  of  Russia.  A  hot  summer  midday.  A  wide 
road  near  the  end  of  a  large,  thickly  populated  city. 
Starting  from  the  left  corner  of  the  stage,  the  road 
crosses  it  diagonally,  turning  in  the  rear  of  the  stage 
to  the  right.  Two  high  stone  posts,  of  ancient 
construction,  dilapidated  and  slightly  bent,  indicate 
the  boundary  of  the  city.  On  the  side  of  the  city  line, 
at  the  right  post,  there  is  a  deserted,  once  yellow 
sentry-box,  the  plaster  fallen  of  in  spots  and  the 
windows  tightly  boarded  and  nailed  up.  On  the 
sides  of  the  road  there  are  several  small  shops  made 
of  cheap  wood,  separated  from  one  another  by  narrow 
passages  —  in  the  desperate  and  ineffectual  struggle 
for  existence  the  little  shops  seem  to  be  clambering 
stupidly  upon  one  another.  The  people  are  dealing 
in  all  sorts  of  merchandise:  candies,  sunflower  seeds, 
cheap  sausages,  herrings;  each  shop  has  a  small, 
dirty  counter,  through  which  a  pipe  with  two  faucets 
stands  out  prominently  —  one  of  them  for  soda-water, 
at  a  penny  a  glass,  —  the  other  for  seltzer.  One  of  the 
little  shops  belongs  to  David  Leizer;  the  others  —  to  the 
Greek  Purikes,  to  the  young  Jewess  Sonka  Zitron,  and 
to  the  Russian,  Ivan  Bezkrainy,  who,  in  addition  to 
his  business,  mends  shoes  and  rubbers;  he  is  the  only 
one  who  has  "real  noblemen's  "  cider  for  sale. 
c  17 


i8  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

The  sun  is  burning  mercilessly  and  the  few  small  trees ,  with 
their  leaves  curled  up  from  the  heat,  are  pining 
for  rain;  the  dusty  road  is  deserted.  Beyond  the 
posts,  where  the  road  is  turning  toward  the  right, 
there  is  a  high  precipice  —  the  dust-covered  tops  of 
trees  are  seen  here  and  there  in  the  descending  dis- 
tance. And  embracing  the  entire  horizon,  the  sea 
has  stretched  itself  in  a  smoky  blue  strip,  sleeping 
peacefully  in  the  Jieat  and  glare  of  the  sun. 

Sarah,  David  Leizer^s  wife,  an  old  Jewess,  exhausted  by  life, 
is  seated  in  front  of  her  little  shop.  She  is  mending 
some  rags  and  is  chatting  languidly  with  the  other 
shopkeepers. 

Sarah. 

No  one  is  buying  anything.  No  one  is  drinking 
any  soda-water ;  no  one  is  buying  any  sunflower 
seeds  or  any  fine  candies  which  melt  in  the  mouth. 

PURIKES. 
Like  an  echo. 

No  one  is  buying  anything. 

Sarah. 

One  might  think  that  all  the  people  have  died  so 
as  not  to  buy  anything.     One  might  think  that  we 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  19 

remained  alone  with  our  stores  in  the  whole  world 
—  we  alone  in  the  whole  world. 

PURIKES. 
Like  an  echo. 

We  alone. 

Bezkrainy. 

The  sun  has  burnt  all  the  customers  —  only  the 
shopkeepers  remained. 

Silence.     The  soft  sobbing  of  Sonka  is  heard. 

Bezkrainy. 

Sonka,  yesterday  you  bought  a  chicken.  Did  you 
kill  or  rob  anybody  that  you  can  afford  to  buy 
chickens?  And  if  you  are  so  rich  and  you  hide 
your  money,  why  do  you  deal  here  and  hinder  us 
from  making  a  living  ? 

PURIKES. 
Like  an  echo. 

And  hinder  us  from  making  a  living  ? 

Bezkrainy. 
Sonka,  I  am  asking  you,  —  is  it  true  that  you 


20  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

bought  a  chicken  yesterday  ?  Don't  he,  I  know  it 
from  trustworthy  people. 

Sonka  maintains  silence,  weeping. 

Sarah. 

When  a  Jew  buys  a  chicken,  it  is  because  either  the 
Jew  is  sick  or  the  chicken  is  sick.  Sonka  Zitron's 
son  is  dying ;  yesterday  he  commenced  to  die  and 
to-day  he  will  end  it  —  the  boy  is  tenacious  and  he 
is  dying  slowly. 

Bezkrainy. 
Why  did  she  come  here  if  her  son  is  dying  ? 

Sarah. 
Because  it  is  necessary  to  trade. 

PURTKES. 

It  is  necessary  to  trade. 
Sonka  is  weeping. 

Sarah. 

Yesterday  we  ate  nothing,  we  waited  for  to-day; 
and    to-day  we  will  eat  nothing,   waiting   that 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  21 

to-morrow  will  bring  us  customers  and  happiness. 
Happiness  !  Who  knows  what  is  happiness  ?  All 
people  are  equal  before  God,  and  yet  one  sells  two 
cents'  worth,  while  another  sells  thirty  cents'  worth. 
And  one  always  two  cents'  worth,  while  the  other 
always  thirty  cents'  worth,  and  no  one  knows  why 
happiness  is  given  to  a  person. 

Bezkrainy. 

I  used  to  sell  thirty  cents'  worth,  and  now  I  sell  only 
two  cents'  worth.  At  that  time  I  had  no  "noble- 
men's" cider,  and  now  I  have  it,  and  yet  I  sell  only 
two  cents'  worth  now.    Luck  is  changeable  ! 

PURIKES. 

Luck  is  changeable. 

Sarah. 

Yesterday  my  son  Naum  came  and  asked  me: 
"Mother,  where  is  father?"  So  I  said  to  him: 
"  What  for  do  you  want  to  know  where  father  is  ? 
David  Leizer,  your  father,  is  a  sick,  unfortunate 
man,  who  is  going  to  die  soon ;  and  he  goes  to  the 
seashore  to  commune  in  solitude  with  God  about 
his  fate.    Don't  disturb  your  father,  he  is  going  to 


22  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

die  soon  —  you  had  better  tell  me  what  you  want 
to  say."  And  Naum  answered :  "I  will  tell  you, 
mother,  —  I  am  beginning  to  die  ! "  That  is  what 
Naum  answered.  When  David  Leizer,  my  old 
husband,  came  home,  I  said  to  him :  "  You  are 
still  steadfast  in  your  uprightness !  Blaspheme 
God  and  die !  For  your  son  Naum  is  already 
beginning  to  die." 

Sonka  is  weeping  more  lovdly. 

PURIKES. 
Stiddenly  looks  around,  frightened. 

But  what  —  But  what  if  people  should  stop  buying 
things  altogether  ? 

Sarah. 

Frightened. 

What  do  you  mean  ? 

PURIKES. 

With  ever  growing  fear. 

What  if  people  should  suddenly  stop  buying  things 
altogether  ?    What  are  we  to  do  then  ? 

Bezkrainy. 

With  alarm. 

How  is  it  possible  that  people  should  stop  buying 
things  altogether  ?    That's  impossible  ! 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  23 

Sarah. 
That's  impossible. 

PURIKES. 

It  is  possible.    Suddenly  everybody  may  stop  buy- 
ing things. 

All  are  seized  with  horrorj  even  Sonka  stops  weeping,  and 
pale-faced,  she  surveys  the  deserted  road  with  her 
frightened,  dark  eyes.  The  sun  is  burning  merci- 
lessly. Anathema  appears  in  the  distance,  at  the  turn 
of  the  road. 


A  customer ! 


A  customer ! 


Sarah. 


PURIKES. 


Sonka. 

A  customer  !    A  customer  ! 

She  cries  again.  Anathema  comes  nearer  to  them.  Not- 
withstanding the  heat,  he  wears  a  black  coat  of  fine 
cloth,  a  black  silk  hat,  black  gloves;  only  his  necktie 
is  white,  lending  a  solemn  air  to  his  costume.  He  is 
tall,  and,  though  grey-haired,  straight  and  stately. 
The  face  of  the  accursed  one  is  of  a  swarthy-grey  color; 
his  features  are  stern  and  of  peculiar  [beauty.    When 


24  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Anathema  takes  of  his  hat,  his  enormous  forehead  is 
revealed,  furrowed  by  wrinkles.  His  head  is  unusually 
large  and  his  greyish  black  hair  is  dishevelled.  Anath- 
ema's neck  is  wiry  and  strong,  but  it  is  rather  thin 
and  long,  and  in  his  nervous  contortions  he  carries  his 
head  like  a  heavy  weight,  giving  it  the  appearance  of 
strange  inquisitiveness,  restlessness  and  malignily. 

Sarah. 

Do  you  want  perhaps  a  glass  of  soda-water,  sir? 
It  is  as  hot  as  in  Hell,  and  if  you  don't  drink, 
you  may  die  of  a  sunstroke. 

Bezkrainy. 
Real  noblemen's  cider ! 

PURTKES. 

Violet  soda  !    My  God,  violet  soda ! 

Sarah. 
Soda,  seltzer ! 

Bezkrainy. 

Don't  drink  her  soda-water.  From  her  water  rats 
are  dying  and  roaches  stand  up  on  their  hind  legs. 


ACT  il  ANATHEMA  25 

Sarah. 

Ivan,  aren't  you  ashamed  to  take  away  a  cus- 
tomer? I  am  not  saying  anything  about  your 
noblemen's  cider,  which  is  fit  only  for  mad  dogs 
to  drink. 

PCTRIKES. 

Joyously. 

A  customer !  A  customer !  Please  don't  buy 
anything  from  me,  you  needn't  buy  anything 
from  me,  —  all  I  want  is  to  look  at  you.  Sonka, 
do  you  see  ?    A  buyer ! 

Sonka. 

I  don't  see  anything.    I  can't  see. 
Anathema  lifts  his  hat,  and  bows  to  all  kindly. 

Anathema. 

Thank  you.  I  will  drink  a  glass  of  soda-water 
with  pleasure,  and  perhaps  even  a  glass  of  your 
noblemen's  cider.  But  I  should  like  to  know 
where  David  Leizer's  business  place  is. 

Sarah. 
Surprised. 

It  is  here.  Do  you  want  David  ?  I  am  his  wife, 
Sarah. 


26  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Anathema. 

Yes,  madam  Leizer,  I  want  to  see  David,  David 
Leizer. 

Sarah. 

Suspiciously. 

You  have  come  with  bad  news:  David  has  no 
friends  that  wear  clothes  of  such  fine  cloth  as 
you  wear.  If  that  is  so,  you  had  better  go  away. 
David  is  not  here,  and  I  will  not  tell  you  where 
he  is. 

Anathema. 
Heartily. 

Oh,  no,  madam,  don't  be  imeasy ;  I  am  not  bring- 
ing you  any  bad  news.  But  how  pleasant  it  is 
to  see  such  love. — Do  you  love  your  husband 
very  much,  madam  Leizer  ?  He  must  be  a  very 
strong  and  healthy  man,  earning  much  money. 

Sailah. 
Frowning. 

No,  he  is  sick  and  old  and  unable  to  work.  But 
he  has  not  sinned  against  God  or  man  in  any 
way,  and  even  his  enemies  dare  not  say  anything 
bad  about  him.  Here  is  some  seltzer,  sir,  it  is 
better  than  soda.    And  if  you  are  not  afraid  of 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  27 

the  heat,  I  would  ask  you  to  sit  down  and  wait 
a  while;  David  will  soon  be  here. 

Anathema. 

Sitting  down. 

Yes,  I  have  heard  many  good  things  about  your 
husband,  but  I  did  not  know  that  he  was  so 
feeble  and  old.  Have  you  any  children,  madam 
Leizer  ? 

Sarah. 
We  had  six,  but  the  first  four  died  .... 

Anathema. 
Nods  his  head  compassionately. 

Sarah. 

Yes,  we  lived  miserably,  sir.  And  we  have  only 
two  left.    Our  son  Naimi  .  .  . 

Bezkrainy. 

A  good-for-nothing,  who  makes  believe  that  he 
is  sick  and  saunters  about  the  city  all  day  long. 

Sarah. 

Stop,  Ivan,  aren't  you  ashamed  to  slander  honest 
people?    Naum  is  going  around  because  he  has 


28  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

to  get  credit.  Then,  sir,  we  have  a  daughter,  and 
her  name  is  Rosa.  But  unfortunately  she  is  too 
beautiful,  too  beautiful,  sir.  Happiness  —  what 
is  happiness  ?  One  person  dies  of  smallpox,  while 
another  person  needs  smallpox,  but  it  would  not 
come,  and  the  face  is  as  pure  as  a  flower  leaf. 

Anathema. 

Feigning  amazement. 

Why  are  you  so  sorry  about  it  ?  Beauty  is  a  gift 
from  God,  which  He  has  bestowed  upon  man, 
whom  he  has  thus  elevated  and  brought  nearer 
to  Himself. 

Sarah. 

Who  knows?  It  may  be  a  gift  from  God,  and 
it  may  be  a  gift  from  somebody  else  of  whom  I 
would  not  speak.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  do  not 
know;  why  has  a  man  beautiful  eyes,  if  he  must 
hide  them  ?  Why  has  he  a  white  face,  if  he  must 
cover  it  with  soot  and  filth?  Beauty  is  a  too 
dangerous  treasure,  for  it  is  easier  to  hide  money 
from  a  robber,  than  beauty  from  a  wicked  man. 
(Suspiciously.)  Did  you  come  perhaps  to  see  Rosa  ? 
Then  you  better  go  away,  —  Rosa  is  not  here,  and 
I  will  not  tell  you  where  she  is. 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  29 

PURIKES. 

A  buyer.    Sarah,  look,  a  buyer'  is  here. 

Sarah, 

Yes,  yes,  Purikes.  But  he  will  not  buy  that 
which  he  has  come  for,  and  he  will  not  find  that 
which  he  is  seeking. 

Anathema  smiles  good-naturedly  and  listens  attentively  to 
the  conversation;  every  time  some  one  begins  to  speak, 
he  stretches  his  neck  and  turns  his  head  to  the  speaker, 
holding  it  slightly  bent  on  one  side.  He  makes 
grimaces  like  an  actor,  expressing  now  amazement, 
now  sorrow  or  indignation.  He  laughs,  inappropri- 
ately, thereby  frightening  and  surprising  the  people. 

BEZKRAESry. 

Sarah,  you  are  making  a  mistake  in  valuing  your 
goods  too  highly  and  not  selling  when  people  are 
ready  to  buy.  Every  article  loses  its  value  if 
you  keep  it  too  long. 

Sarah 

Tearfully. 

What  a  wicked  man  you  are,  Ivan.  I  gave  you 
credit  for  ten  copecks,  and  you  are  forever  slander- 
ing us. 


30  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Bezkrainy. 

Don't  pay  any  attention  to  me,  Sarah,  —  I  am 
wicked  because  I  am  hungry.  You,  sir,  in  that 
black  coat,  go  away :  Sarah  is  an  honest  woman 
and  she  will  not  sell  her  daughter  to  you,  even 
if  you  offered  her  a  miUion. 

Sarah. 
Hotty. 

That's  right,  Ivan,  thank  you.  But  who  told 
you,  sir,  that  our  Rosa  is  beautiful?  It  is  not 
true  —  don't  laugh,  it  isn't  true,  she  is  as  ugly  as 
deadly  sin.  She  is  as  filthy  as  a  dog  that  has 
just  crawled  out  of  the  coal-hole  of  a  ship ;  her  face 
is  furrowed  by  smallpox  and  it  looks  like  a  field 
where  people  dig  lime  and  sand ;  there  is  on  her 
right  eye  a  cataract  as  large  as  on  an  old  horse. 
Look  at  her  hair  —  it  is  like  faded  wool,  half 
torn  away  by  birds;  and  when  she  walks,  she 
stoops,  —  I  swear  to  you,  she  stoops  when  she 
walks !  If  you  take  her,  everybody  will  laugh  at 
you,  everybody  will  spit  at  you,  the  street  urchins 
will  give  you  no  rest  .  .  . 

Anatheaia.. 
Surprised. 

But,  madam  Leizer,  I  have  heard  — 


ACT  1}  ANATHEMA  31 

Sarah. 
Sorrowfidly. 

You  have  heard  nothing !  I  swear  to  you,  you 
have  heard  nothing. 

Anathema. 
But  you  yourself  — 

Sarah. 

Imploringly. 

Have  I  said  anything?  My  God,  women  are  so 
talkative,  sir;  and  they  love  their  children  so 
dearly  that  they  always  consider  them  beautiful. 
Rosa  —  beautiful !  {Laughs.)  Just  think  of  it, 
Purikes,  —  Rosa  is  beautiful ! 

She  laughs.  Rosa  comes  over  from  the  direction  of  the  city. 
Her  hair  is  disheveled,  almost  covering  her  black, 
flashing  eyes;  her  face  is  smeared  with  something 
black,  and  she  is  dressed  wretchedly.  She  walks  with 
a  youthful  and  stately  gait,  but  on  noticing  the  strange 
man,  she  stoops  like  an  old  woman. 

Sarah. 

Here,  here  is  Rosa;  look,  sir !  My  God,  how 
ugly  she  is.  David  cries  every  time  he  sees 
her. 


32  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Rosa. 

Offended,  straightens  herself. 

There  are  uglier  women  than  I  am. 

Sarah. 

Persuasively. 

What  are  you  saying,  Rosa?  There  is  no  uglier 
girl  than  you  in  the  whole  world.  {Whispers 
entreatingly.)  Hide  your  beauty,  Rosa.  A  robber 
has  come,  Rosa,  —  hide  your  beauty  !  At  night  I 
will  wash  your  face  myself,  I  will  comb  your 
braids  myself,  and  you  will  be  as  beautiful  as  a 
heavenly  angel,  and  we  will  all  pray  to  you.  A 
robber  has  come,  Rosa.  {Aloud.)  Did  they  throw 
stones  at  you  again  ? 

'Rosa. 

Hoarsely. 

Yes,  they  did. 

Sarah. 
And  the  dogs  attacked  you,  too? 

Rosa. 
Yes,  they  did. 

Sarah. 
So  you  see,  sir  ?    Even  the  dogs  ! 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  33 

Anathema. 

In  a  friendly  tone. 

Yes,  it  seems  that  I  have  made  a  mistake.  To 
my  regret,  your  daughter  is  r-eally  not  pretty  and 
it  is  painful  to  look  at  her. 

Sarah. 

Of  course,  there  are  ugher  girls  than  she  is,  but  — 
Go,  Rosochka,  go  over  there,  take  your  work  — 
What  is  there  for  a  poor  and  ugly  girl  to  do  but 
work  ?    Go,  my  poor  Rosochka,  go. 

Rosa  takes  some  rags  to  mend  and  disappears  behind  the 
counter.    Silence. 

Anathema. 
Is  it  long  since  you  have  this  store,  madam  Leizer  ? 

Sarah. 
Calmed  down. 

Thirty  years  already,  ever  since  David  became  sick. 
A  misfortune  happened  to  him  when  he  served 
in  the  army,  —  he  was  trampled  by  horses  and 
they  crushed  his  chest. 

Anathema. 
Was  David  a  soldier? 


34  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Bezkrainy. 

Interposing. 

David  had  an  older  brother,  and  he  was  a  scoun- 
drel, and  his  name  was  Moses. 

Sarah. 
With  a  sigh. 

And  his  name  was  Moses. 

Bezkrainy. 

And  when  the  time  came  for  Moses  to  Serve  in 
the  army,  he  ran  off  on  an  ItaUan  steamer.  And 
David  was  taken  in  his  place. 

Sarah. 

With  a  sigh. 
David  was  taken. 

Anathema. 
What  injustice ! 

Bezkrainy. 
Have  you  ever  met  justice  in  the  world  ? 

Anathema. 

Of  course  I  have.  You  are  no  doubt  an  un- 
fortunate man,   and  everything  appears  to  you 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  35 

in  dark  colors.  But  you  will  see,  you  will  soon 
see,  that  justice  does  exist.  (Freely.)  The  devil 
take  it,  I  have  nothing  to  do,  so  I  always  roam 
about  the  world,  and  I  have  not  seen  anything 
so  plentiful  as  justice.  How  shall  I  say  it,  madam 
Leizer?  There  is  more  justice  on  earth  than 
fleas  on  a  good  dog. 

Sarah. 

Smiling. 

But  what  if  it  is  just  as  hard  to  catch  justice  as 
to  catch  fleas.  .  .  . 

Bezkrainy. 

And  what  if  it  bites  just  as  the  fleas  do  ? 

AU  laugh.  From  the  side  of  the  city  appears  an  organ- 
grinder,  exhausted,  half-blinded  from  dust  and 
perspiration.  He  wants  to  pass  by,  but  suddenly 
he  pauses  in  despair,  and  begins  to  play  a  terrible 
tune. 

Sarah. 
Pass  on,  please,  pass  on.    We  need  no  music. 

Organ-grinder. 
Playing. 

Neither  do  I  need  it. 


36  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Sarah. 
We  have  nothing  to  give  you.    Pass  on. 

Organ-grinder. 

Playing. 

Then  I  will  die  to  the  strains  of  music. 

Anathema. 
Generously. 

Please,  madam  Leizer,  give  him  something  to  eat 
and  water  —  I  will  pay  for  everything. 

Sarah. 

What  a  kind-hearted  man  you  are.  Go,  musician, 
eat  and  drink.  But  for  the  water  I  will  not  take 
anything  from  you  —  let  the  water  be  mine. 

The  organ-grinder  sits  down  and  eats  ravenously. 
Anathema. 

Friendly. 

Is  it  long  you  have  been  roaming  over  the  world, 
musician  ? 

Organ-grinder. 

Morosely. 

I  used  to  have  a  monkey  before  —  music  and  a 
monkey.     The  monkey  was  eaten  up  by  the  fleas, 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  37 

and  my  music  box  started  to  screech,  and  I  am 
looking  for  a  tree  on  which  to  hang  myself.  That 
is  all. 

A  little  girl  runs  in.    She  looks  curiously  at  the  organ- 
grinder,  then  turns  to  Sonka. 

Little  Girl. 
Sonka,  Ruzya  died. 

SOISTKA. 

Already  ? 

Little  Girl. 
Yes,  he  died.    May  I  take  some  seeds? 

Sonka.. 
Closing  her  store. 

You  may.  Sarah,  if  a  customer  comes,  tell  him  that 
I  will  attend  to  business  to-morrow  again,  other- 
wise he  may  think  that  my  store  is  closed  for  good. 
Have  you  heard  it?    Ruzya  died. 

Sarah. 
Already  ? 


38  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Little  Girl. 

Yes,  he  died.    Is  the  musician  going  to  play  ? 

Anathema  whispers  to  Sarah  and  puts  something  into  her 
hand. 

Sarah. 
Sonka,  here  is  a  rouble  for  you;  you  see,  a  rouble  ? 

Bezkrainy. 

There   is   luck !    Yesterday  a  chicken,  to-day  a 
rouble.    Take  it,  Sonka. 

All  look  greedily  upon  the  rouble.     Sonka  and  the  little  girl 
go  out. 

Sarah. 
You  are  very  rich,  sir. 

Anathema. 
With  self-satisfaction. 

Yes.    I  have  a  large  practice  —  I  am  a  lawyer. 

Sarah. 
Quickly. 

David  has  no  debts. 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  39 

Anathema. 

Oh,  I  haven't  come  for  that  at  all,  madam  Leizer. 
When  you  know  me  better,  you  will  see  that  I 
brmg,  but  do  not  take,  that  I  make  gifts,  but  do 
not  take  them  back. 

Sarah. 

With  fear. 

Do  you  come  from  God  ? 

Anathema. 

It  would  be  too  much  honor  for  me  and  for  you, 
madam  Leizer,  if  I  came  from  God.  No,  I  have 
come  of  my  own  accord. 

Naum  comes  over,  looks  at  the  customer  with  amazement,  and 
sits  down,  exhausted,  upon  a  rock.  Naum  is  a  tall, 
thin  young  man,  with  a  narrow  chest  and  a  large, 
pale  nose.    He  looks  around  on  all  sides. 


Naum. 


Where  is  Rosa  ? 


Sarah. 

In  a  whisper. 

Not  so  loud,  —  she  is  there.     {Alotid.)     Well,  hew 
was  it,  Naimi?    Did  you  get  any  credit? 


40  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Naum. 
Slowly. 

No,  mother,  I  did  not  get  any  credit.  I  am  begin- 
ning to  die,  mother,  —  everybody  feels  hot,  while 
I  am  very  cold  ;  and  I  am  perspiring,  but  my 
perspiration  is  cold.  I  met  Sonka  —  Ruzya  died 
already. 

Sarah. 

You  will  live  yet,  Naum,  you  will  live  yet. 

Naum. 
Slowly. 

Yes,  I  will  live  yet.  Why  isn't  father  coming? 
It  is  time  for  him  to  be  here. 

Saiiah. 

Clean  a  herring,  Rosa.  This  gentleman  is  waiting 
for  David  a  long  time  already,  and  David  isn't 
here. 

Naum. 
What  does  he  want  ? 

Sarah. 

I  don't  know,  Naum.  Since  he  came,  I  suppose  it 
was  necessary. 

Silence. 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  41 

Naum. 

Mother,  I  am  not  going  for  credit  any  more.  I 
will  go  with  father  to  the  sea.  The  time  has 
come  when  I  must  go  and  ask  God  about  my  fate. 

Sarah. 
Do  not  ask  Him,  Naum,  do  not  ask. 

Naum. 
I  will  ask  Him. 

Sarah. 

Entreatingly. 

Don't  do  it,  Naimi,  don't  ask. 

Anathema. 

Why  not,  madam  Leizer  ?  Do  you  fear  that  God 
will  give  him  a  bad  answer  ?  You  should  have  more 
faith,  madam  Leizer.  If  David  heard  you,  he 
would  not  approve  your  words. 

Organ-grinder. 

Raising  his  head. 

Is  it  you,  young  man,  who  wants  to  speak  to  God  ? 


42  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Naum. 
Yes,  it  is  I.    Every  man  can  speak  with  God. 

Organ-grinder. 

Do  you  think  so  ?    Then  ask  for  a  new  organ.    Tell 
Him  that  this  one  is  screeching. 

Anathema. 

Compassionately. 

He  might  add  that  the  monkey  was  eaten  up  by 
the  fleas  —  that  he  needs  a  new  monkey. 

He  laughs.    All  look  at  him  in  perplexity;  the  organ-grinder 
rises  and  takes  up  his  organ  silently. 

Sarah. 
What  do  you  want  to  do,  musician  ? 

Organ-grinder. 
I  want  to  play. 

Sarah. 
What  for  ?    We  don't  need  any  music. 

Organ-grinder. 
I  must  thank  you  for  your  kindness. 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  43 

He  plays  something  weird:  the  organ  screeches,  breaks  off, 
wheezes.  Anathema,  with  eyes  lifted  dreamily  to  the 
sky,  keeps  time  with  his  hand,  and  whistles. 

Sarah. 
My  God,  how  badly  it  sounds. 

Anathema. 

This,  madam  Leizer  (whistles),  —  this  is  called  the 
world  harmony. 

The  conversation  dies  away  for  some  time :  only  the  screeching 
of  the  organ  and  the  whistling  of  Anathema  are  heard. 
The  sun  is  still  shining  mercilessly. 

Anathema. 

I  have  nothing  to  do,  so  I  wander  over  the  world. 

He  is  carried  away  by  the  playing  of  the  organ.  Siiddenly 
the  organ  breaks  off  with  a  screech,  which  rings  in 
the  ears  for  a  long  time,  and  Anathema  remains  as 
petrified  with  uplifted  hand. 

Anathema. 

Perplexedly. 

Does  it  always  end  like  this  ? 

Organ-grinder. 
Sometimes  even  worse.     Good-by. 


44  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Anathema. 

Feeling  his  vest  pocket. 

No,  no,  you  mustn't  go  away  like  that.  .  .  .  You 
have  afforded  us  genuine  pleasure,  and  I  do  not 
want  you  to  hang  yourself.  Here  is  some  change 
for  you,  and  Uve  on. 

Sarah. 

Pleasantly  surprised. 

Who  could  ever  think,  by  looking  at  your  face,  that 
you  are  such  a  cheerful  and  kind-hearted  man  ? 

Anathema. 

Flattered. 

Oh,  do  not  embarrass  me  with  your  praise,  madam 
Leizer.  Why  shouldn't  I  help  a  poor  man  who 
would  otherwise  hang  himself !  The  Hf e  of  man 
is  a  precious  thing,  madam  Leizer,  —  and  I  always 
carry  change  with  me.  .  .  .  But  isn't  that  ven- 
erable man  I  see  there  David  Leizer  ? 
He  looks  in  the  direction  where  the  road  turns  to  the  right. 

Sarah. 

Also  looking  at  the  road. 
Yes,  that  is  David. 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  45 

All  wait  silently.  On  the  dust-covered  road  appears  David 
Leizer,  walking  slowly.  He  is  tall,  bony,  with  long, 
grey  locks  and  a  grey  beard;  on  his  head  he  wears 
a  high,  black  cap;  in  his  hand  a  stajf  with  which 
he  seems  to  measure  the  road.  He  looks  down  from 
under  his  heavy  eyebrows;  and  thus,  without  lifting 
his  eyes,  he  advances  slowly  and  seriously  to  the 
people,  and  stops,  leaning  upon  the  staff  with  both 
hands. 

Sarah. 

Rising  respectfully. 

Where  were  you,  David? 

David. 

Not  lifting  his  eyes. 
I  was  by  the  sea. 

Sarah. 
What  did  you  do  there,  David? 

David. 

I  looked  at  the  waves,  Sarah,  and  asked  them 
whence  they  came  and  whither  they  were  going. 
I  was  thinking  of  Hfe,  Sarah  —  whence  it  came 
and  whither  it  is  going.  .  .  . 


46  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Sarah. 
What  did  the  waves  tell  you,  David? 

David. 

They  did  not  tell  me  anything,  Sarah.  .  .  .  They 
come  and  go  away  again,  and  the  man  by  the  sea 
is  waiting  in  vain  for  an  answer  from  the  sea. 

Sarah. 
With  whom  did  you  speak,  David? 

Davh). 

I  spoke  with  God,  Sarah.  I  asked  Him  about 
the  fate  of  David  Leizer,  the  poor  Jew  who  is 
going  to  die  soon. 

Sarah. 

With  emotion. 

And  what  did  God  tell  you  ? 

David  is  silent,  his  eyes  lowered. 

Sarah. 

Our  son  Naum  also  wants  to  go  with  you  to  the 
sea  and  ask  about  his  fate. 


ACT  I]  .    ANATHEMA  47 

David. 
Lifting  his  eyes. 

Is  Naum  going  to  die  soon  ? 

Naum. 
Yes,  father,  —  I  have  already  commenced  to  die. 

Anathema. 

But,  pardon  me,  gentlemen.  .  .  .  Why  should 
you  speak  of  death,  since  I  have  brought  you  life 
and  happiness  ? 

David. 

Turning  his  head  to  him. 

Do  you  come  from  God?  Sarah,  who  is  he  who 
dares  to  speak  like  this? 

Sarah. 
I  don't  know.    He  has  been  waiting  for  you  a 
long  time. 

Anathema. 
Bustling  about  joyously. 

Oh,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  smile.  Attention  for 
one  minute  and  I  will  make  you  all  laugh.  Atten- 
tion, gentlemen.    Attention! 

All  look  with  tense  attention  at  Anathema's  mouth. 


48  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Anathema. 

Taking  out  a  paper,  solemnly. 

Are  you  not  David  Leizer,  the  son  of  Abraham 
Leizer? 

Leizer. 
Frightened. 

Well,  yes,  I  am.  But  there  may  be  another  David 
Leizer.    I  don't  know  —  ask  the  people. 

Anathema. 

Interrupting  him  with  a  gesture. 

Didn't  you  have  a  brother,  Moses  Leizer,  who  fled 
to  America  thirty-five  years  ago  on  the  Italian 
steamship  Fortuna? 

All. 
Yes,  he  did. 

Davh). 
But  I  did  not  know  that  he  was  in  America. 

Anathema. 

David  Leizer,  your  brother  Moses  died ! 

Silence. 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  49 

David. 
I  have  long  forgiven  him. 

Anathema. 

And  before  he  died  he  bequeathed  all  his  fortune, 
amounting  to  two  million  dollars  {to  the  people  sur- 
rounding him),  which  means  four  miUion  roubles, 
—  to  you,  David  Leizer. 

A  deep  sigh  goes  through  the  crowd  and  all  seem  as  petrified. 
Anathema. 

Outstretching  the  paper. 

Here  is  the  document,  you  see  —  the  seal. 

David. 

Pushing  the  paper  aside. 

No,  don't !  Don't  do  that !  You  were  not  sent 
by  God.  God  would  not  make  sport  of  man  in 
this  way. 

Anathema. 

Heartily. 

This  is  not  a  jest.  Upon  my  honor,  it  is  the 
truth,  —  four  millions.  Allow  me  to  be  the  first 
to  congratulate  you  and  to  shake  your  honest 
hand  warmly.     (Takes  David  Leizer' s  haizd  and  shakes  it.) 


50  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Well,  madam  Leizer,  what  have  I  brought  you  ? 
And  what  will  you  say  now  ?  Is  your  daughter 
Rosa  beautiful  now  or  is  she  ugly  ?  Aha  !  Are 
you  going  to  die  so  soon,  Naum  ?  Aha!  {Tearfully.) 
That's  what  I  have  brought  you,  people,  and 
now  permit  me  to  step  aside  —  and  not  to  disturb 
you  — 

Lifts  a  handkerchief  to  his  eyes  and  steps  aside,  apparently 
agitated. 

Sarah. 

Wildly. 
Rosa ! 

Rosa. 

Also  wildly. 

What  is  it,  mamma? 

Sarah. 
Wash  your  face !    Wash  your  face,  Rosa !    My 
God,   quicker,   quicker,  —  wash  your  face ! 

As  though  insane,  she  drags  Rosa,  washes  her,  splashing  the 
water  with  trembling  hands.  Naum  clings  to  his 
father's  arm,  hanging  on  to  it,  as  though  he  is  about 
to  lose  consciousness. 

David. 
Take    back   your  paper !     (Firmly.)     Take  back 
your  paper! 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  51 

Sarah. 

Have  you  lost  your  mind,  David?  Don't  listen 
to  him.  Wash  yourself,  Rosochka,  wash  your- 
self !    Let  all  the  people  see  your  beauty ! 

Naum. 

Seizing  the  paper. 

It  is  ours,  father.  Father,  —  this  is  how  God 
has  answered  you.  Look  at  mother,  look  at  Rosa 
—  look  at  me :    I  was  already  commencing  to  die. 

PURIKES. 

Shouts. 

Ai,  Ai,  look  out,  they'll  tear  the  paper.  Ai,  Ai, 
take  away  the  paper  from  them,  quick ! 

Naum  cries,  Rosa,  radiantly  beautiful,  her  hair  wet,  but 
no  longer  covering  her  eyes,  comes  over  to  her  father, 
laughing. 

Rosa. 
It  is  I,  father!    It  is  I !    It  is  — I! 

Sarah. 

Wildly. 

Where  were  you,  Rosa  ? 

Rosa. 
I  wasn't  —  I've  just  been  bom,  mamma ! 


52  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

Sarah. 

See,  David,  see  —  a  human  being  has  just  been 
born  !  Oh,  look  at  her,  every  one  of  you  !  Oh, 
open  the  doors  of  your  vision,  throw  open  the 
gates  of  your  eyes  —  look  at  her,  every  one  of  you  ! 

Suddenly  David  realizes  the  meaning  of  what  has  happened. 
He  throws  his  cap  from  his  head,  tears  his  clothing, 
which  seems  to  suffocate  him,  and  pushing  everybody 
aside,  rushes  to  Anathema. 

David. 

Sternly. 

Why  have  you  brought  this? 

Anathema. 
Meekly. 

But,  pardon  me,  Mr.  Leizer,  I  am  only  a  lawyer. 
I  am  sincerely  glad. 

Davh). 

Why  have  you  brought  this  ? 

He  pushes  Anathema  aside,  and  reeling,  goes  to  the  road. 
Suddenly  he  stops,  turns  around  and  shouts,  flourish- 
ing his  hands. 

David. 

Drive  him  away  —  that  is  the  Devil.  Do  you 
think    he    brought    me    four    miUion    roubles? 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  53 

No,  he  brought  me  four  million  insults.  Four 
million  mockeries  he  hurled  upon  the  head  of 
David  .  .  .  Four  oceans  of  bitter  tears  have  I 
shed  over  life,  my  sighs  were  four  winds  of  the 
earth,  my  four  children  were  devoured  by  hunger 
and  diseases  —  and  now,  when  I  must  die,  he 
brings  me  four  millions.  Will  they  return  to  me 
my  youth  which  I  passed  in  privation,  oppressed 
with  grief,  wrapped  with  sorrows,  crowned  with 
anguish  ?  Will  they  repay  me  for  one  day  of  my 
starvation,  one  tear  that  fell  upon  a  rock,  one 
insult  hurled  at  my  face  ?  Four  milhon  curses  — 
that's  what  your  four  million  roubles  are  —  oh, 
Hannah,  oh,  Benjamin,  and  Raphael,  and  my 
little  Moishe,  —  you,  my  little  birdies,  who  died 
of  hunger  upon  the  naked  branches  of  winter  — 
what  will  you  say  if  your  father  should  touch 
this  money?  No,  I  don't  need  any  money.  I 
am  teUing  you  —  I,  an  old  Jew,  dying  of  hunger. 
I  don't  need  any  money.  I  don't  see  God  in 
this.  But  I  shall  go  to  Him,  I  shall  tell  Him : 
What  are  you  doing  with  David  ?  —  I  am  going. 
Goes  away,  brandishing  his  hands. 

Sarah. 
Crying. 

David,  come  back,  come  back. 


54  ANATHEMA  [act  i 

PUIOKES. 
In  despair. 

The  paper,  pick  up  the  paper. 

Anathema. 
Turns  around. 

Cahn  yourself,  madam  Leizer,  he  will  come  back. 
It  is  always  thus  at  first.  I  have  wandered  a 
great  deal  over  the  world  and  I  know  it.  The 
blood  rushes  to  the  head,  the  feet  begin  to  quiver, 
and  man  curses.    That's  nonsense  ! 

Rosa. 
What  a  crooked  mirror,  mother ! 

Naum. 
Cries. 

Mamma,  where  is  father  going  ?    I  want  to  Uve. 

Anathema. 

Throw  away  that  piece  of  glass,  Rosa.  Man- 
kind will  reflect  your  beauty,  the  world  will  re- 
flect your  beauty  —  you  will  see  yourself  in  the 
world  . .  .  Ah,  you  are  still  here,  musician.  Play 
something  for  us,  please.  Such  a  holiday  must 
not  pass  without  music! 


ACT  I]  ANATHEMA  55 

Organ-grinder. 
Shall  I  play  the  same? 

Anathema. 
The  same. 

The  organ  wails  and  wheezes.  Anathema  whistles  furiously, 
waving  his  hands,  as  though  blessing  everybody  with  the 
music  and  the  whistling. 

Curtain. 


ACT  TWO. 

David  Leizer  lives  richly.  At  the  urgent  request  of  his  wife 
and  his  children  he  has  hired  a  rich  villa,  by  the  sea- 
shore, engaged  numerous  servants,  bought  horses  and 
carriages.  Anathema,  under  the  pretext  thai  he  had 
groTvn  tired  of  his  law  practice,  remained  with  David 
as  his  private  secretary.  Rosa  is  taking  lessons  in 
languages  and  deportment.  Naum,  who  hcLS  grown 
very  sick,  near  to  death,  is  learning  how  to  dance.  The 
money  has  not  yet  arrived  from  America,  but  to  David 
Leizer,  the  millionaire,  a  large  credit  has  been  ex- 
tended. 

The  stage  represents  a  rich  parlor,  white  marble  here  and  there, 
with  large  Italian  windows  and  a  door  leading  to  a 
veranda.  It  is  midday.  Beyond  the  open  windows, 
semi-tropical  plants  are  visible,  and  the  deep  blue 
sea  in  the  distance;  through  one  of  the  windows,  a 
view  of  the  city  is  seen. 

David  Leizer  is  seated  by  the  table,  greatly  depressed.  A  short 
distance  away,  on  a  divan,  Sarah  is  seated,  dressed 
richly,  but  without  taste;  she  watches  Naum  learn- 
ing how  to  dance.  Naum  is  very  pale,  he  coughs  and 
almost  falls  from  weakness,  especially  when,  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  the  dance,  he  must  stand  on  one  foot; 
but  he  is  studying  diligently!  He  is  dressed  rather 
richly,  Jnii  his  bright-colored  vest  and  necktie  spoil 
S6 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  57 

the  elegance  oj  his  appearance.  Near  Naum,  the 
dancing-master,  with  a  fiddle  and  how,  is  bustling 
about,  balancing  himself,  rising  up  and  down.  He  is  a 
man  of  unusual  refinement  and  grace;  he  wears  a  white 
vest,  patent-leather  slippers,  and  a  smoking  jacket. 
And  Anathema,  standing  at  the  veranda  door,  looks  upon  all 
this  with  an  air  of  sadness  and  reproach. 

Dancing-master. 
One  —  two  —  three ;    one  —  two  —  three. 

Sarah. 

Look,  David,  see  how  successful  our  Naum  is  in 
his  dancing.  I  could  not  hop  Hke  that  for  any- 
thing —  poor  boy ! 

David. 
I  see. 

Dancing-master. 

Monsieur  Naum  is  very  talented.  Please,  one  — 
two  —  three ;  one  —  two  —  three.  Pardon  me, 
pardon  me,  this  isn't  exactly  right.  You  must 
make  the  step  more  precise,  neatly  rounding  the 
motion  of  the  right  foot.    This  way  —  this  way. 

Shows  him  how  to  do  it. 

Madam  Leizer,  dancing  is  quite  like  mathematics, 
a  circle  is  necessary. 


58  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

Sarah. 
Do  you  hear,  David  ? 

David. 
I  hear. 

Dancing-master. 
Please,   monsieur  Naum.    One  —  two  —  three. 

Plays  on  his  violin. 

Naum. 
Out  of  breath. 

One,  two,  three.  One,  two,  three.  One,  two, 
three. 

He  turns  around,  and  then,  suddenly,  almost  falls  down. 
He  stops.  His  face  is  exhausted,  deathly  pale ;  he  is 
seized  with  a  fit  of  coughing.  Then  he  resumes  danc- 
ing. 

Naum. 
One,   twOj  three. 

Dancing-master.  ^ 

That's  the  way,  that's  the  way,  monsieur  Naum. 
Please,  more  neatly!  More  neatly,  please  !  One, 
two,  three. 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  59 

He  plays.  Anathema  walks  over  to  Sarah  cautiously  and 
says  in  a  low  voice,  yet  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by 
David: 

'  Anathema. 

Madam  Leizer,  does  it  not  seem  to  you  that  Naum 
is  rather  tired?  This  dancing-master  knows  no 
mercy. 

David. 

Turning  around. 

Yes,  it  is  enough.  Sarah,  you  are  willing  to  torture 
the  boy. 

Sarah. 
Confusedly. 

What  have  I  to  do  with  it,  David?  Don't  I 
see  that  he  is  tired,  but  he  wants  to  dance? 
Naum,  Naimi ' 

David. 
Enough,  Naum  !    Take  a  rest. 

Naum. 

Out  of  breath. 

I  want  to  dance. 

Stops  and  stamps  his  foot  hysterically. 


6o  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

Why  ara  I  not  allowed  to  dance  ?    Or  do  you  all 
want  me  to  die  soon  ? 


Sarah. 
You  will  live  yet,  Naum.    You  will  live  yet. 

Naum. 

Almost  crying. 

Why  don't  they  allow  me  to  dance?  I  want  to 
dance.  I  have  looked  for  credit  long  enough, 
I  want  to  amuse  myself.  Am  I  an  old  man  to  he 
in  bed  and  cough  there  ?    Cough  !    Cough  ! 

He  coughs  and  cries  simultaneously.  Anathema  whispers 
something  to  the  dancing-master,  who  expresses  com- 
passion, nods  his  head,  and  prepares  to  go. 

Dancing-master. 

Until  to-morrow,  monsieur  Naum.  I  am  afraid 
that  our  lesson  was  a  little  too  long. 

Naum. 

To-morrow  —  don't  fail  to  come  to-morrow.  Do 
you  hear  ?    I  want  to  dance. 

The  dancing-master  goes  out,  bowing.     Naum  follows  him. 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  6i 

Naum. 

To-morrow,  without  fail.     Do  you  hear?    With- 
out fail. 
They  go  out. 

Anathema. 

What  are  you  thinking  of,  David?  Allow  me 
to  be  not  only  your  private  secretary  —  although 
I  am  proud  of  this  honor  —  but  also  your  friend. 
Since  the  time  when  you  received  the  money 
you  are  oppressed  by  a  dark  sorrow,  and  it  pains 
me  to  look  at  you. 

David. 
What  is  there  that  I  should  rejoice  over,  Nullius  ? 

Sarah. 

And  Rosa  ?  Do  not  sin  against  God,  David  !  Do 
not  our  eyes  rest  upon  her  beauty  and  youth? 
Before  even  the  silent  moon  dared  not  look  at  her, 
one  star  dared  not  whisper  about  her  to  any  other 
star,  —  while  now  she  is  riding  about  in  a  carriage, 
and  everybody  looks  at  her,  and  horsemen  gallop 
after  her.  Just  think  of  it,  NuUius,  horsemen 
gallop  after  her ! 


62  ANATHEMA  [act  ii 

David. 
And  Naum  ? 

Sarah. 

What  about  Naum?  He  has  long  been  ill,  you 
know  it,  and  death  upon  a  soft  bed  is  not  worse 
than  death  upon  the  pavement.  And  perhaps  he 
will  Hve  yet,  he  will  Hve  yet  {cries).  David, 
Abraham  Khessin  and  Sonka's  girl  are  waiting 
for  you  in  the  yard. 

David. 

Morosely. 

What  do  they  want,  money?  Sarah,  give  them 
a  few  pennies  and  let  them  go. 

Sarah. 

In  the  end  they  will  draw  out  all  the  money  we 
have,  NuUius.  I  have  given  to  Khessin  twice 
already.  He  is  like  sand,  —  no  matter  how  much 
water  you  pour  into  it,  it  is  always  dry  and  greedy. 

David. 

Nonsense!  we  have  too  much  money,  Sarah. 
But  it  pains  me  to  look  at  the  people,  Nullius. 
Since  the  time  when  you  brought  us  this  fortune  — 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  63 

Anathema. 
Which  you  earned  by  your  sufferings,  Leizer. 

David. 

Since  that  time,  the  people  have  changed  so  much 
for  the  worse.  You  Hke  to  have  the  people  bow 
to  you  very  low,  NuUius?  I  do  not  like  it  — 
human  beings  are  not  dogs  that  they  should  crawl 
on  their  bellies.  And  you  like  to  have  the  people 
tell  you,  NuUius,  that  you  are  the  wisest,  the 
most  magnanimous,  the  best  of  all  living  beings 

—  whereas  you  are  only  an  ordinary  old  Jew, 
like  many  another  Jew.     I  do  not  like  it,  NuUius, 

—  for  the  sons  of  the  God  of  truth  and  mercy 
it  is  unbecoming  to  Ue,  even  while  dying  of  the 
cruelties  of  truth. 

Anathema. 

Thoughtfully. 

Riches  are  a  terrible  power,  Leizer.  No  one 
asks  you  where  your  money  came  from;  they 
see  your  might  and  they  worship  it. 

Davh). 

Might?  And  Naxun?  And  I,  NuUius?  Can 
I  buy  for  aU  the  money  even  a  single  day  of 
health  and  life? 


64  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

Anathema. 
You  look  considerably  fresher  now. 

David. 

Smiling  gloomily. 

Yes?  Should  I,  perhaps,  also  engage  a  dancing- 
master?    What  do  you  advise  me,  Nulhus? 

Sarah. 

Don't  forget  Rosa,  father.  Is  it  not  a  great  sin 
against  God  to  hide  the  beauty  of  the  face?  It 
is  given  as  a  joy  and  a  pleasure  to  the  eyes ;  God 
Himself  reveals  His  beauty  in  a  beautiful  face, 
and  did  we  not  lift  our  hands  against  God  Him- 
self when  we  stained  our  Rosa's  face  with  coal 
and  soot,  when  we  made  her  terrible  and  sorrow- 
ful to  look  upon  ? 

Davh>. 

Beauty  is  withering.    Everything  is  dying,  Sarah. 

Sarah. 

But  the  lily  also  withers,  and  the  narcissus  dies, 
the  petals  of  the  yellow  rose  fall  apart  —  would  you, 
David,  trample  all  flowers  under  foot  and  heap 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  65 

abuse  upon  the  yellow  rose?  Do  not  doubt, 
David,  —  the  God  of  righteousness  has  given  you 
riches  —  will  you  who  were  so  firm  in  misfortune 
that  you  did  not  blaspheme  God  even  once  — 
will  you  grow  weak  in  your  happiness? 

Anathema. 

You  are  perfectly  right,  madam  Leizer.  Rosa 
has  so  many  suitors  that  all  she  needs  is  to  choose. 

David. 

Rising  angrily. 

I  will  not  give  Rosa  to  any  of  them. 

Sarah. 
Why  not,  David? 

Davto. 

I  will  not  give  Rosa  to  any  of  them.  They  are 
like  dogs  that  want  to  eat  out  of  the  golden  bowl 
—  I  will  drive  the  dogs  away. 

Enter  Rosa.  She  is  dressed  richly,  but  simply.  She  is 
somewhat  pale  and  fatigued,  but  very  beautiful.  She 
tries  to  speak  and  to  move  gracefully,  but  at  times 
sJie  forgets  herself  and  becomes  rude  and  vociferous. 
She  feels  tormented  by  this.  Rosa  is  accompanied  by 
two  horsemen.     The  older  man  is  very  pale  and  he 


66  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

frowns  angrily.  Naum  clings  to  Rosa,  as  though 
seeking  protection  in  her  youth,  strength,  and  beauty, 
and  he  walks  faintly  after  her. 

David. 

In  a  rather  loud  voice. 

Sarah,  here  are  the  suitors. 
Sarah. 

Waving  her  hand. 

Oh,  be  silent,  David. 

Rosa. 

Kissing  her  mother  carelessly. 

How  tired  I  am,  mamma.     Good  afternoon,  father. 

Sarah. 

Take  care   of  yourself,  Rosochka;  you  mustn't 

study  so  much. 

To  the  older  of  the  two  cavaliers. 

Please  tell  her  that  she  mustn't  work  so  hard  — / 
what  does  she  need  to  work  for  now  ?  ) 

(' 

Young  Rjder. 
In  a  low  voice. 

People  should  pray  before  your  daughter,  madam 
Leizer.    Soon  a  temple  will  be  erected  in  her  honor. 


ACT  II]  ANATHEMA  67 

Older  Rider. 
Smiling. 

And  near  the  temple,  a  cemetery.  Madam  Leizer, 
there  are  always  cemeteries  near  the  temples. 

Rosa. 

Good-by.  I  am  tired.  If  you  are  disengaged, 
come  in  to-morrow  morning  —  I  may  go  out  with 
you  again. 

Older  Rider. 

Shrugging  his  shoulders. 

Disengaged  ?  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  we  are  entirely 
free. 

Harshly. 

Good-by. 

Young  Rider. 
With  a  sigh. 

Good-by. 

They  go  out. 

Sarah. 

Uneasily. 

Rosochka,  I  think  you  have  offended  him.  Why 
did  you  do  it? 


68  -ANATHEMA  [act  n 

Rosa. 
That  doesn't  matter,  mamma. 

Anathema. 
To  David. 

These   are  not   suitors,   David. 

David  laughs  morosely.  Anathema  runs  over  to  Rosa  and 
offers  her  his  arm.  He  leads  her,  half-dancing^ 
merrily  whistling  the  same  tune  that  the  organ  had 
played. 

Anathema. 

Oh,  Rosa,  were  it  not  for  my  age  {whistles)  and  not 
for  my  illness  {whistles)  ^  I  would  be  the  first  to 
ask  your  hand. 

Rosa. 

Laughing  haughtily. 

Better  illness  than  death. 

Davh).  ' 

You  are  a  very  gay  man,  NuUius. 

Anathema. 

Whistling. 

The  absence  of  wealth  and,  then,  a  clear  con- 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  69 

science,  David,  a  clear  conscience.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do,  so  I  walk  arm  in  arm  with  Rosa.  You 
spoke  of  death,  Rosa? 

Rosa. 

Yes. 

Anathema. 

Stopping. 

You  are  indeed  beautiful,  Rosa. 

Thoughtfully. 

And  what  if .  .  .  .  If .  .  .  .  But  no ;  duty  above 
all.  Listen  to  me,  Rosa :  don't  give  yourself  away 
to  any  one  less  than  a  prince,  even  though  the 
prince  of  darkness. 

Natjm. 

Rosochka,  why  did  you  go  away  from  me?  I 
feel  cold  when  you  do  not  hold  my  hand.  Hold 
my  hand,  Rosochka. 

Rosa. 

Hesitating. 

But  I  must  go  to  change  my  dress,  Naum. 

Natjm. 
I  will  accompany  you  as  far  as  your  room.    You 


70  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

know,  I  danced  again  to-day  and  danced  very 
well.    I  am  not  so  short  of  breath  now  any  longer. 

With  a  feeling  of  adoration  and  slight  envy. 
How  beautiful  you  are,  Rosochka ! 

Sarah. 

Wait,  Rosochka,  I  will  comb  your  hair  myself. 
Will  you  allow  me? 

Rosa. 

You  do  it  very  badly,  mamma ;  you  kiss  it  more 
than  you  comb  it  —  my  hair  gets  entangled  from 
your  kisses. 

David.  ^' 

Is  that  how  you  answer  your  mother,  Rosa?  ^ 

Rosa. 

Stopping. 

Why  do  you  despise  my  beauty,  father? 

David. 
Before,  I  used  to  love  your  beauty,  Rosa. 


ACT  II]  ANATHEMA  71 

Sarah. 

With  indignation. 

What  did  you  say,  David? 

David. 

Yes,  Sarah.  I  love  the  pearl  when  it  is  on  the 
bottom  of  the  sea;  but  after  it  is  taken  out  of 
the  sea,  it  becomes  blood  —  and  then  I  do  not 
like  pearls,  Sarah. 

Rosa. 

Why  do  you  despise  my  beauty,  father  ?  Do  you 
know  what  another  girl  in  my  place  would  have 
done?  She  would  have  lost  her  mind  and  would 
have  whirled  about  on  earth  like  a  dog  that 
swallowed  a  pin.  But  what  am  I  doing?  I 
am  studying,  father.  I  am  studying  by  day 
and  night,  father. 

In  great  agitation. 

I  don't  know  anything.  I  don't  know  how  to 
speak,  I  don't  even  know  how  to  walk  —  I  stoop, 
I  stoop  as  I  walk. 

Sailah. 
That  isn't  true,  Rosa. 


72  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

Rosa. 

Agitated. 

Here  I  have  forgotten  myself  for  a  while,  and  I 
am  shouting,  I  am  croaking  hoarsely,  like  a  crow 
that  has  caught  cold.  I  want  to  be  beautiful  — 
that's  what  I  was  bom  for.  You  laugh?  It 
is  in  vain.  Do  you  know  that  your  daughter 
wiU  be  a  duchess,  a  princess?  I  want  to  add 
a  scepter  to  my  crown ! 

Anathema. 
Oho! 

All  three  go  out.    David  jumps  from  his  seat  angrily  and 
paces  the  room  quickly. 

0 

David.  / 

What  a  comedy,  NuUius  !  Yesterday  she  begged 
Heaven  for  a  herring,  and  to-day  a  crown  is  not 
enough  for  her.  To-morrow  she  will  take  the 
throne  away  from  Satan  and  will  sit  upon  it, 
NuUius,  and  she  will  sit  firmly  !    What  a  comedy  ! 

Anathema  has  changed  the  expression  of  his  face;    he  is 
stern  and  morose. 

Anathema. 
No,  David  Leizer,  it  is  a  tragedy. 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  73 

David. 

'Tis  a  comedy,  Nullius,  a  comedy.    Don't  you 
hear  the  laughter  of  Satan  in  all  this  ? 
Pointing  at  the  door. 

You  saw  a  corpse  dancing  —  I  see  it  every 
morning. 

Anathema. 
Is  Naum  so  dangerously  ill  ? 

David. 

Dangerously  iU  ?  Three  physicians,  three  serious 
gentlemen,  examined  him  yesterday  and  told  me 
quietly  that  in  a  month  from  now  Naum  will  die, 
that  he  is  already  more  than  half  a  corpse.  And 
every  morning  I  see  in  this  white  marble  parlor 
a  corpse  jumping  to  the  tune  of  music  —  is  it  not 
a  dream,  Nullius  ?  Is  it  not  the  laughter  of 
Satan? 

Anathema. 
And  what  did  they  say  about  your  health,  David  ? 

Davh). 
I  did  not  ask  them.    I  don't  want  them  to  tell  me. 


74  ANATHEMA  ^   [act  n 

You  may  also  jump  to  the  tune  of  music,  David. 
How  would  you  like  it,  Nullius :  two  corpses  danc- 
ing in  a  white  marble  hall? 
He  laughs  bitterly. 

Anathema. 

You  frighten  me,  my  friend.  What  is  going  on 
within  your  soul? 

David. 

Do  not  touch  my  soul,  Nullius  —  there  is  horror 
in  it !  /> 

Clasps  his  head.  ) 

Oh !  what  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?  I  am 
alone  in  the  whole  world. 

Anathema. 
What  ails  you,  David?    Calm  yourself. 

Davh). 

Stopping  before  Anathema,  horror-stricken. 

Death,  Nullius,  death !  You  have  brought  us 
death.  Was  I  not  mute  before  the  face  of  Death  ? 
Did  I  not  wait  for  it  as  for  a  friend?  But  here 
you  have  brought  us  riches  —  and  I  want  to  dance. 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  75 

I  want  to  dance,  yet  death  clutches  at  my  heart ; 
I  want  to  eat,  for  hunger  has  entered  my  very 
bones,  —  but  my  old  stomach  refuses  to  accept 
any  food ;  I  want  to  laugh,  but  my  face  is  sobbing, 
my  eyes  are  weeping,  and  my  soul  is  crying  with 
mortal  fear.  Hunger  has  crept  into  my  bones, 
and  poison  is  already  in  my  blood  —  there  is  no 
salvation  for  me;  Death  has  overtaken  me. 

Anathema. 

Significantly. 

The  poor  are  waiting  for  you,  David. 

David. 
What  matters  it  ? 

Anathema. 
The  poor  are  waiting  for  you,  David. 

David. 
The  poor  are  always  waiting. 

Anathema. 
Sternly. 

Now  I  see  that  you  are  really  lost,  David.  God 
has  forsaken  you. 


76  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

David  stops  and  looks  at  him,  surprised  and  angry.  Anath- 
ema, with  head  thrown  back  haughtily,  meets  his  look 
calmly  and  sternly.    Silence. 


David.  i 

You  say  this  to  me,  Nullius? 

Anathema. 

Yes,  I  say  this  to  you,  David  Leizer.  Beware, 
David  Leizer,  you  are  in  Satan's  hands. 

David. 

Terrified. 

Nullius,  my  friend,  you  frighten  me.  What 
have  I  done  to  deserve  your  anger  and  these 
cruel,  terrible  words  of  yours  ?  You  have  always 
treated  me  and  my  children  so  kindly.  .  .  .  Your 
hair  is  just  as  grey  as  mine,  in  your  face  I  have 
long  observed  a  hidden  grief,  and  —  I  respect  you, 
NuUius !  Why  are  you  silent  ?  A  terrible  fire 
is  burning  in  your  eyes.  —  Who  are  you,  Nullius  ? 
But  you  are  silent.  —  No,  no,  do  not  lower  your 
eyes,  I  am  even  more  terrified  when  they  are  low- 
ered, for  then  upon  your  brow  appear  fiery  letters 
of  some  vague  —  of  some  terrible  —  fatal  truth. 


ACT  n] 

ANATHEMA 

Tenderly. 

Anathema. 

David! 

Joyously. 

David. 

You  have  started  to  speak,  Nullius. 

77 


Anathema. 

Be  silent  and  listen  to  me.  From  madness  I 
will  bring  you  back  to  wisdom,  from  death  to  life. 

Davh). 
I  am  silent  and  I  am  Hstening. 

Anathema. 

Your  madness  consists  of  this,  David  Leizer,  — 
you  have  sought  for  God  all  your  Hfe,  and  when 
God  came  to  you,  you  said :  "  I  do  not  know  You." 
Your  death  consists  of  this,  David  Leizer, — 
bhnded  by  misfortunes,  like  a  horse  that  is  turning 
around  in  the  darkness,  you  failed  to  notice  the 
people  and  you  remained  in  their  midst  alone,  with 
your  iUness  and  your  riches.  There  in  the  yard 
Life  is  waiting  for  you  —  and  you,  bHnd  man,  you 
close  the  door  against  it.    Dance,  David,  dance,  — 


78  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

Death  has  lifted  the  bow  and  is  waiting  for  you. 
Be  more  graceful,  David  Leizer,  more  graceful; 
round  out  your  steps  more  neatly ! 

David. 
What  do  you  want  of  me  ? 

Anathema. 
Return  to  God  that  which  God  has  given  to  you. 

David.  ^^ 
Darkly. 

Has  God  given  me  anything? 

Anathema. 

Every  rouble  in  your  pocket  is  a  knife  which  you 
thrust  into  the  heart  of  the  hungry.  Distribute 
your  fortune  to  the  poor,  give  bread  to  the  himgry, 
and  you  will  conquer  Death. 

David. 

No  one  gave  a  crust  of  bread  to  David  when  he 
was  hungry.  By  satisfying  their  hunger,  will  I 
still  the  hunger  that  is  in  my  bones  ? 

Anathema. 
In  them  your  own  hunger  will  be  stilled. 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  79 

David. 
Shall  I  get  back  my  health  and  my  strength  ? 

Anathema. 
In  them  you  will  be  strong. 

David. 

Shall  I  drive  out  death,  already  in  my  blood, 
which  is  as  thin  as  water,  which  is  already  in  my 
veins,  that  have  become  hard  like  dried-up  cords? 
Shall  I  recover  life  ? 

Anathema. 

By  their  life  you  will  prolong  your  life.  Now 
you  have  but  one  heart,  David,  —  but  then  you 
will  have  a  million  hearts. 

David. 
But  I  shall  die ! 

Anathema. 
No,  you  will  be  immortal ! 
David  retreats  in  horror. 

David. 
Your  lips  have  uttered  a  terrible  word.    Who 


8o  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

are   you    that   you    dare    promise    immortality? 
Are  not  life  and  death  in  the  hand  of  God? 

Anathema. 
God  said:  Reestablish  life  through  life. 

David. 

But  people  are  wicked  and  vicious,  and  the  hungry 
one  is  nearer  to  God  than  the  well-fed. 

Anathema. 
Remember  Hannah  and  Benjamin.  .  .  . 

Davld. 
Be  silent ! 

Anathema. 
Remember  Raphael  and  little  Moishe.  .  .  . 

David. 

Grief-stricken. 

Be  silent,  be  silent ! 

Anathema. 

Remember  your  little  birds  who  died  upon  the 
cold  branches  of  winter  — 

David  cries  bitterly. 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  8i 

Anathema. 

When  the  lark  sings  m  the  blue  sky,  will  you  say 
to  it :  "Be  silent,  little  bird,  God  does  not  need 
your  song  "  ?  And  will  you  not  give  a  kernel  to  it 
when  it  is  hungry?  And  will  you  not  cover  it 
upon  your  breast  when  it  is  cold,  that  it  may 
feel  warm  and  save  its  voice  for  Spring?  Who 
are  you,  then,  unfortunate  man,  who  has  no  pity 
on  birds  and  who  turns  children  out  into  the 
storm?  Remember  how  your  little  Moishe  died. 
Remember,  David,  and  say:  "The  people  are 
vicious,  wicked,  and  unworthy  of  my  kindness  ! " 

David  bends  his  knees  as  under  a  heavy  weight  and  lifts  his 
hands,  as  though  warding  of  from  his  head  a  blow 
from  the  sky.    He  speaks  hoarsely. 

David. 
Adenoi !    Adenoi ! 

Anathema,  with  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  looks  at  him  in 
silence. 

David. 
Mercy !    Mercy ! 

Anathema. 
Quickly. 

David,  the  poor  are  waiting  for  you.  They  will 
go  away  soon. 


82  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

David. 


No,  no ! 


Anathema. 


The  poor  are  always  waiting,  but  they  grow 
tired  of  waiting  and  they  go  away. 

David. 

They  will  not  go  away  from  me.  Oh,  Nullius, 
Nullius!  .  .  .  Oh,  wiseNuUius!  Oh,  foolish  Nul- 
lius! Is  it  possible  that  you  did  not  imderstand 
that  I  have  long  been  waiting  for  the  poor  and 
that  their  voice  is  in  my  ears  and  in  my  heart  ? 
When  wheels  are  riding  along  a  dust-covered 
road,  on  which  rain  had  just  fallen,  they  think  as 
they  turn  and  leave  a  trace :  Here  we  are  making 
a  road.  But  the  road  was  there  before,  NuUius, 
the  road  was  there  before ! 

Gayly. 

Call  the  poor  over  to  me. 

Anathema. 

Consider,  David,  whom  you  are  calling. 

Darkly. 

Do  not  deceive  me,  David. 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  83 

David 
I  have  never  deceived  any  one,  Nullius. 

Resolutely  and  majestically. 

You  spoke  and  I  was  silent,  and  I  listened;  now 
be  silent  and  listen  to  me :  I  have  given  my  soul 
not  to  man  but  to  God,  and  His  power  is  over 
me.  And  I  command  you :  Call  my  wife  Sarah 
over  here,  and  my  children  Naum  and  Rosa,  and 
all  the  people  in  my  household,  whoever  they 
may  be. 


Anathema. 


Obediently. 

I  shall  call  them. 


David. 

And  call  the  poor  who  are  waiting  for  me  in  the 
yard.  And  when  you  go  out  on  the  street,  see 
whether  there  are  any  poor  people  waiting  for  me, 
and  if  you  see  them,  call  them  also.  For  my  lips 
are  burning  with  their  thirst,  their  hunger  torments 
my  body  with  insatiable  hunger,  and  I  am  hasten- 
ing to  announce  to  the  people  my  last,  imchange- 
ablewiU.    Go! 


84  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

ANATHELiA. 
Obediently. 

Your  will  is  upon  me. 

Anathema  goes  to  the  door.    Silence. 

David. 

The  spirit  of  God  has  come  over  me.  Adenoi. 
Adenoi.  .  .  .  Who  was  the  terrible  one  that  spoke 
through  the  voice  of  old  NuUius,  when  he  spoke 
about  my  little  children  who  died?  Only  an 
arrow  out  of  the  bow  of  the  Omniscient  strikes 
the  very  heart  with  such  good  aim^  My  little 
birds.  .  .  .  Verily,  You  have  saved  me  upon  the 
edge  of  the  abyss,  and  You  have  torn  my  spirit 
away  from  the  clutches  of  the  Devil.  He  who 
looks  straight  at  the  sun  may  grow  bUnd,  but 
with  the  lapse  of  time  the  light  may  come  back 
to  the  revived  eyes ;  but  he  who  looks  into  dark- 
ness grows  blind  forever.    My  Httle  birds.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  he  laughs  softly  and  joyously,  and  he  whispers. 

I  myself  shall  bring  them  bread  and  milk,  I  shall 
hide  myself  behind  the  bed-curtain  that  they  should 
not  see  me  —  children  are  so  tender  and  easily 
frightened  and  they  are  afraid  of  unfamiUar  peo- 
ple ;  and  I  have  such  a  terrible  beard.  {Laughs.) 
I  shall  hide  myself  behind  the  bed-curtain  and  will 


Acrn]  ANATHEMA  85- 

watch  how  the  children  are  eating.  They  need 
so  httle ;  they  eat  a  little  crust  of  bread  and  they 
have  enough;  they  drink  a  cup  of  milk  and  they 
know  no  thirst  any  longer.  Then  they  sing  — 
But  how  strange!  does  not  the  night  pass  away 
when  the  sun  comes?  do  not  the  waves,  at  the 
end  of  the  storm,  he  down  calmly  and  quietly 
like  lambs  resting  in  the  pasture?  Whence 
came  the  alarm,  the  shght  confusion,  and  the 
fear?  Shades  of  unknown  woes  are  passing  over 
my  soul  and  soaring  noiselessly  over  my  thoughts. 
Ah,  if  I  remained  poor,  if  I  remained  im- 
known,  under  the  shade  of  the  fence  where  the 
refuse  is  cast'  away !  You  have  lifted  me  to  the 
peak  of  the  mountain  and  You  show  my  old, 
sorrowful  face  to  the  world.  But  such  is  Your  will. 
You  will  command  —  and  the  lamb  will  become 
a  Hon ;  You  will  command  —  and  the  furious  Hon 
will  stretch  out  her  powerful  breasts  to  her  little 
ones;  You  wiU  command  —  and  David  Leizer, 
who  has  grown  white  in  shade,  will  fearlessly 
rise  to  the  sim.  Adenoi!  Adenoil 
Sarah,  Naum,  and  Rosa  enter,  alarmed. 

Sarah. 

David,  what  is  it  you  have  called  us  for?    And 
why  was  your  NuUius  so  strict  when  he  told  us 


86  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

of  your  command  ?  We  have  not  sinned  against 
you,  and  if  we  have  sinned,  investigate  it,  but 
do  not  look  at  us  so  sternly. 


May  I  sit  down? 


Rosa. 


David. 


Be  silent  and  wait.  All  those  whom  I  have  called 
are  not  here  yet.  Be  seated,  Rosa,  if  you  are 
tired,  but  when  the  time  comes,  rise.  You,  too, 
may  sit  down,  Naimi. 

The  servants  enter  irresolutely ;  a  lackey,  resembling  an  Eng- 
lish Minister;  a  chamber-maid;  a  cook;  a  gardener; 
a  dish-washer,  and  others.  They  move  about  in  confu- 
sion. Soon  about  fifteen  or  twenty  poor  people  enter, 
in  groups.  Among  them  are:  Abraham  KItessin,  an 
old  man;  Sonka's  girl;  Joseph  Kritsky,  Sarah  Lepke, 
and  several  other  Jews  and  Jewesses.  But  there 
are  also  Greeks,  and  Little  Russians,  and  Russians 
and  other  paupers  whose  nationality  has  been  lost 
in  rags  and  filth;  two  drunkards.  Purikes,  Ivan 
Bezkrainy,  and  the  Organ-grinder,  with  the  same 
outworn  instrument,  are  also  here.  But  Anathema 
is  still  away. 

David. 
Please,  please.    Come  in  more  boldly,  don't  stop  at 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  87 

the  threshold,  —  others  are  coming  behind  you. 
But  it  would  be  well  if  you  wiped  your  feet  first ; 
this  rich  house  is  not  mine,  and  I  must  retiun 
it  as  clean  as  when  I  took  it. 

Khessin. 

We  have  not  yet  learned  how  to  walk  on  rugs, 
and  we  have  not  yet  any  patent  leather  shoes, 
as  your  son  Naum  has.  How  do  you  do,  David 
Leizer  ?    Peace  be  upon  your  house. 

David. 

Peace  unto  you,  too,  Abraham.  But  why  do  you 
caU  me  David  Leizer,  when  you  used  to  call  me 
simply  David  before  ? 

Khessin. 

You  are  now  such  a  mighty  man,  David  Leizer. 
Yes,  I  used  to  call  you  merely  David  before, 
but  here  I  was  waiting  for  you  in  the  yard, 
and  the  longer  I  waited,  the  longer  your  name 
grew,  Mr.  David  Leizer. 

David. 

You  are  right,  Abraham :  when  the  sun  sets,  the 
shadows  become  longer,  and  when  a  man  becomes 


88  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

smaller,  his  name  grows  longer.  But  wait  another 
while,  Abraham. 

Lackey. 

To  drunkard. 

You  better  move  away  from  me. 

Drunkard. 

Keep  quiet,  fool !  You  are  a  servant  here,  while 
we  are  the  guests. 

Lackey. 

Ruffian  !  You  aren't  in  a  car  here,  that  you  spit 
on  the  flocH". 

Drunkard. 

Mr.  Leizer,  a  certain  man,  who  looked  Uke  an  old 
devil,  caught  me  by  the  collar  and  said:  ''David 
Leizer,  who  received  an  inheritance,  is  calling  you." 
I  asked  him,  "What  for?"  So  he  answered: 
"David  wants  to  make  you  his  heir,"  and  he  began 
to  laugh.  And  now  that  I  came  here,  your  servant 
is  chasing  me  away. 

David. 

Smiling. 

NuUius  is  a  gay  man  and  he  never  misses  an 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  89 

opportunity  for  jesting.    But  you  are  my  guest, 
and  I  ask  you  to  wait. 

Sarah. 

After  some  hesitancy. 

Well,  how  is  your  business  getting  along,  Ivan? 
You  have  fewer  competitors  now. 

Bezkrainy. 
It's  bad,  Sarah ;   we  have  no  customers. 

PURIKES. 
Like  an  echo. 

No  customers. 

Sarah. 

Compassionately. 

Ai  —  Ai  —  Ai !    It's  bad,  if  there  are  no  customers. 

Rosa. 

Don't  speak,  mamma.    Do  you  want,  perhaps,  to 
smear  my  face  again  with  soot  ? 

Pushing  several  paupers  into  the  door,  Anathema  enters,  ap- 
parenUy  fatigued. 

Anathema. 
Well,  David,  meanwhile  receive  these.    Your  mil- 


90  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

lions  frighten  the  poor,  and  nobody  wanted  to 
follow  me,  thinking  that  some  deception  is  hidden 
here. 

Drunkard. 
This  is  the  man  who  caught  me  by  the  collar. 

Anathema. 

Ah,  is  that  you  ?  How  do  you  do  ?  How  do  you 
do? 

David. 

Thank  you,  Nullius.  Now  take  ink  and  paper 
and  sit  down  near  me,  by  the  table ;  bring  me  my 
old  counting-board.  ...  As  everything  I  am 
about  to  say  is  very  important,  I  ask  you  to  write 
it  correctly  and  to  make  no  errors  —  we  shaU  give 
an  account  of  every  word  before  God.  I  ask  you 
all  to  rise  and  listen  attentively,  striving  to  under- 
stand the  great  words  which  I  am  about  to  utter. 
Sternly. 
Rise,  Rosa. 

Sarah. 

God,  have  mercy  on  us !  What  are  you  going  to 
do,  David  ? 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  91 

David. 
Be  silent,  Sarah.    You  will  come  with  me. 

Anathema. 
Ready. 

All  listen,  standing. 

David. 

Solemnly. 

Upon  the  death  of  my  brother,  Moses  Leizer,  I 
received  an  inheritance  {on  the  counting-board)  of 
two  miUion  dollars. 

Anathema. 

Nervously,  lifting  four  fingers. 

Which  means  four  million  roubles. 

David. 

Sternly. 

Do  not  interrupt  me,  NuUius.  Yes,  it  does  mean 
four  miUion  roubles.  And  now,  submitting  to  the 
voice  of  my  conscience  and  the  command  of  God, 
and  also  in  memory  of  my  children,  Hannah, 
Benjamin,  Raphael,  and  Moses,  who  died  of  hunger 
and  disease  in  their  childhood.  .  .  . 

He  lowers  his  head  and  weeps  bitterly.  Sarah  also  cries 
bitterly. 


92  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

Sarah. 

Oh,  my  little  Moishe!  David,  David,  our  little 
Moishe  is  dead. 

David. 

Wiping  his  eyes  with  a  large  red  handkerchief. 

Be  silent,  Sarah.  What  was  I  going  to  say  to 
them,  NuUius?  .  .  .  Well,  write,  NuUius,  write. 
I  know. 

Firmly. 

I  have  resolved,  in  accordance  with  the  command 
of  God,  who  is  Truth  and  Mercy,  to  distribute 
all  my  possessions  to  the  poor.  Am  I  speaking 
properly,  Nullius  ? 

Anathema. 
I  hear  God  in  your  words. 

At  first  no  one  believes  David;  bid  soon  joyous  doubts  and 
unexpected  fear  come  over  them-  As  though  in  sleep 
the  people  repeat:  ^^  Four  millions,  four  millions/" 
and  they  hide  their  faces  with  their  hands.  The 
Organ-grinder  comes  forward. 

Organ-grinder. 
Morosely. 

Will  you  buy  me  a  new  organ,  David  ? 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  93 

Anathema. 
Hush,  musician  !    Back  ! 

Organ-grinder. 

Retreating. 

I  want  also  a  new  monkey. 

David. 
Let  your  hearts  rejoice,  O  unfortunate  people,  and 
with  a  smile  on  your  lips  answer  the  mercy  of 
Heaven.  Go  from  here  to  the  city,  like  heralds 
of  happiness,  —  go  through  aU  its  streets  and 
squares,  and  shout  everywhere:  "David  Leizer, 
the  old  Jew,  who  is  to  die  soon,  received  an  inherit- 
ance and  now  distributes  it  among  the  poor." 
And  if  you  will  see  a  man  weeping,  and  a  child 
whose  face  is  bloodless  and  whose  eyes  are  dim, 
and  a  woman  whose  breasts  are  shrunken  like 
those  of  an  old  goat,  —  tell  them  also :  "  Go,  David 
is  calling  you."     Do  I  speak  properly,  Nullius  ? 

Anathema. 
Yes,  yes.    But  have  you    called  all    those  who 
should  be  called? 

David. 
And  if  you  should  see  an  intoxicated  man  slumber- 
ing amidst  his  vomitings,  wake  him  and  tell  him : 


94  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

"Go,  David  is  calling  you."  And  if  you  should 
see  a  thief  thrashed  in  the  market-place  by  those 
he  had  robbed,  call  him  also,  with  words  of  kindness, 
yet  firm  enough  to  be  regarded  as  a  command: 
"Go,  David  is  calling  you."  And  if  you  should 
see  people  who  in  their  misery  have  become  irri- 
tated and  furious  and  who  are  beating  one  another 
with  sticks  and  bits  of  brick,  announce  to  them 
also  in  words  of  peace :  "  Go,  David  is  calling  you." 
And  if  you  should  see  a  bashful  man,  who  while 
walking  in  the  wide  street  lowers  his  eyes  before 
the  eyes  of  others,  but  who  stares  greedily  when  no 
one  looks  at  him,  tell  him  also  in  a  low  voice, 
without  offending  his  pride :  "Are  you  not  looking 
for  David?  Go,  he  has  long  been  waiting  for 
you."  And  if  in  the  evening,  when  the  Devil 
sows  the  seeds  of  night  over  the  earth,  you  should 
see  a  woman,  hideously  painted,  just  as  the  heathen 
paint  the  bodies  of  their  dead,  and  who  stares 
boldly,  for  she  has  lost  all  shame,  and  who  lifts 
her  shoulders,  for  fear  of  a  blow,  tell  her  also: 
"  Go,  David  is  calling  you."  Do  I  speak  properly, 
Nullius? 

Anathema. 

Yes,  David.  But  have  you  called  all  who  should 
be  called  ? 


ACT  nj  ANATHEMA  95 

David. 

And  whatever  form  of  aversion  or  fear  poverty 
may  assume,  and  in  whatever  colors  misery  may 
paint  itself,  and  by  whatever  words  suffering  may 
fence  itself  around,  rouse  with  a  loud  call  those 
who  are  fatigued,  in  words  of  Ufe  return  Hfe  to  those 
who  are  dying !  Do  not  trust  the  silence  and  the 
darkness  if  they  obstruct  your  way  like  a  wall: 
Shout  more  loudly  into  the  silence  and  the  darkness, 
for  there  dwells  unspeakable  horror. 

Anathema. 

That's  right,  David,  that's  right !  I  see  how  your 
spirit  cUmbs  to  the  peak  of  the  mountain  and 
how  you  knock  loudly  at  the  iron  gates  of  eternity : 
Open !  I  love  you,  David,  I  kiss  your  hand, 
David,  —  like  a  dog  I  am  ready  to  crawl  before 
you  and  to  obey  your  commandments.  Call, 
David,  call !  Rise,  O  earth  !  North  and  South, 
East  and  West,  I  command  you,  by  the  will  of 
David,  my  master,  answer  the  call  of  him  who  calls 
you,  and  stop  at  his  feet  like  four  oceans  of  tears. 
Call,  David,  call ! 

David. 

Lifting  his  hands. 
North  and  South.  .  .  . 


96  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

Anathema. 
East  and  West.  .  .  . 

David. 
David  is  calling  you  all. 

Anathema. 
David  is  calling  you  all. 

Confusion,  tears,  laughter,  — for  all  believe  him  now.  Anath- 
ema kisses  David's  hand,  springing  about  delightedly. 
He  drags  the  Organ-grinder  by  the  collar  to  the  center. 

Anathema. 

Look,  David,  here's  a  musician ! 

Laughs  and  shakes  the  Organ-grinder. 

So  you  don't  want  your  old  music,  eh  ?  You  need 
a  new  monkey,  eh?  Perhaps  you  will  ask  for  a 
powder  that  destroys  the  fleas?  Ask;  we  shall 
give  you  everything. 

Davh). 

Be  quiet,  Nullius,  be  quiet.  We  must  work.  You 
are  an  expert  at  counting,  Nullius,  are  you  not  ? 

Anathema. 

I  ?  Oh,  Rabbi  David  !  I  am  myself  Numbers,  I' 
am  myself  —  Measures  and  Weights. 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  .97 

David. 

Be  seated,  then;  write  and  count.  But  there  is 
one  more  thing,  my  dear  children :  I  am  an  old 
Jew,  who  can  divide  a  piece  of  garlic  into  ten 
portions.  I  know  not  only  the  need  of  man,  but  I 
saw  also  how  a  roach  was  starving  —  yes,  —  I  saw 
also  how  small  children  died  of  hunger.  .  .  . 
Lowers  his  head  and  heaves  a  deep  sigh. 
Therefore  do  not  deceive  me,  and  remember  that 
there  is  a  number  and  a  measure  for  everything. 
And  where  ten  copecks  are  needed,  do  not  ask  for 
twenty,  and  where  pne  measure  of  grain  is  needed, 
do  not  ask  for  two,  for  what  is  superfluous  for 
one  is  always  essential  to  another.  Like  brothers 
having  one  mother  whose  breasts  are  full  but  are 
quickly  exhausted,  do  not  abuse  one  another,  and 
do  not  offend  the  generous  but  careful  mother.  .  .  . 
You  may  begin.     Nullius,  is  everything  ready  ? 

Anathema. 
You  may  begin.     I  am  waiting,  David. 

David. 
Stand  in  line,  then,  I  beg  you.     I  have  not  received 
the  money  yet;  it  is  still  in  America,  but  I  shall 
write  down  exactly  how  much  each  one  of  you 
is  to  get  according  to  his  need. 


98  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

Sarah. 

David,  David,  what  are  you  doing  with  us? 
Look  at  Rosa,  look  at  poor  Naum. 

Naum  is  dumfounded  —  he  wants  to  say  something,  but  is 
unable;  he  clutches  the  air  with  outstretched  fingers. 
A  little  distance  away  from  him,  alone  in  her  youth, 
strength,  and  beauty,  amidst  all  these  poor  people,  with 
emaciated  faces  and  flat  breasts,  stands  Rosa,  who  looks 
at  her  father  defiantly. 

Rosa. 

Are  we  less  your  children  than  these  who  have 
been  picked  up  in  the  street  ?  •  And  are  we  not 
brother  and  sister  to  those  who  died? 

David. 

Rosa  is  right,  mother,  —  everybody  will  get  the 
proper  share. 

Rosa. 

Yes  ?  But  do  you  know,  father,  what  is  the  proper 
share  for  everybody  ? 

She  laughs  bitterly  and  wants  to  go  away. 
David. 

Gently  and  sadly. 
Stay  here,  Rosa ! 


ACT  n]  ANATHEMA  99 

Rosa. 

I  have  nothing  to  do  here.  I  have  heard  you 
call  everybody.  .  .  .  Oh,  you  called  very  loudly ! 
.  .  .  But  did  you  call  the  beautiful?  I  have 
nothing  to  do  here. 

Goes  out. 


Sarah. 


Rising  irresolutely. 
Rosochka !  .  .  . 


David. 

As  gently  as  before,  with  a  smile. 

Stay  here,  mother.    Where  will  you  go  ?    You  will 
come  with  me. 

Naum  makes  a  few  steps  after  Rosa,  then  he  returns  and  siis 
down  near  Sarah. 

David. 

Ready,    NuUius?    Come    over,    then,    honorable 
man,  you  who  stand  first  in  the  line. 

Khessin. 

Advancing. 

Here  I  am,  David. 


loo  ANATHEMA  [act  n 

David. 

What  is  your  name  ? 

Khessin. 

My  name  is  Abraham  Khessin.  ...  But  have 
you  forgotten  my  name?  You  and  I  played 
together  when  we  were  children. 

David. 

Hush  !  It  is  necessary  for  the  sake  of  maintaining 
order,  Abraham.  Write  the  name  clearly,  NuUius. 
This  is  the  first  who  waited  for  me  and  upon  whom 
the  wiU  of  my  God  has  manifested  itself. 

Anathema. 
Writes  carefully. 

Number  one.  ...  I'll  rule  the  paper  later, 
David.     Number  one:   Abraham  IQiessin.  .  .  . 

Naum. 
In  a  low  voice. 

Mamma,  I  will  not  dance  any  more. 

Curtain. 


ACT  THREE 

The  same  dust-covered  road,  with  the  bent  posts  and  the  old, 
deserted  sentinel-box;  the  same  little  shops.  The  sun 
is  burning  as  mercilessly  as  when  Anathema  first 
appeared  there. 

A  large  number  of  poor  people  are  gathered  there  to  welcome 
David  Leizer,  who  had  distributed  his  fortune  among 
the  poor.  The  air  is  rent  by  shouting,  motion,  and 
merry  bustling.  Purikes,  Bezkrainy,  and  Sonka, 
happy  now,  and  proud  of  their  shops,  are  doing  a 
brisk  business  in  soda-water  and  candies.  Sarah 
Leizer  is  sitting  as  before  near  her  little  shop,  dressed 
neatly  but  poorly. 

A  solemn  welcome  is  arranged  for  David  and  Anathema, 
who  had  gone  to  the  seashore.  All  the  little  shops, 
even  the  posts  and  the  deserted  sentinel-box,  are 
decorated  with  parti-colored  rags  and  with  branches 
of  trees;  on  the  right  side  of  the  road,  upon  the 
scorched  grass,  an  orchestra  is  preparing  to  meet 
David  —  several  Jews  with  various  instruments, 
among  which  there  are:  a  good  violin,  cymbals,  a 
broken  brass  trumpet,  and  even  a  drum,  slightly  broken. 
The  members  of  the  orchestra  are  scolding  one  another 
criticizing  each  other's  instruments. 

There  are  a  number  of  children  in  the  crowd.  Also,  little 
babes  in  arms.    Abraham  Khessin  and  those  who  were 


I02  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

in  line  when  David  started  to  distribute  his  money 
are  there;  a  little  distance  away  from  the  crowd 
stands  the  stern  organ-grinder^  with  his  organ. 


Young  Jew. 

Blowing  his  crushed  trumpet. 

But  why  does  it  play  only  on  one  side?  Such  a 
good  trumpet. 

Violinist. 
Agitated. 

What  do  you  want  to  do  with  me  ?  How  can  you 
welcome  David  Leizer  with  such  a  tnmipet? 
You  might  as  well  have  brought  along  a  cat  and 
pulled  her  by  the  tail,  and  think  that  David  would 
call  you  his  son ' 

YoxjNG  Jew. 

Ohstinaidy. 

It's  a  good  trumpet.  My  father  played  it  when 
he  was  in  the  army,  and  everybody  was  thankful 
to  him. 

Violinist. 

Your  father  played  it,  but  who  sat  upon  it  ?  Why 
is  it  so  crushed?  How  can  you  welcome  David 
Leizer  with  such  a  crushed  trumpet  ? 


ACT  in]  ANATHEMA  103 

Young  Jew. 

With  tears. 

It's  a  very  good  trumpet. 

Violinist. 

To  a  clean-shaven  old  man. 

Is  that  your  drum?  Tell  me,  do  you  seriously 
believe  that  this  is  a  drum?  Have  you  ever 
seen  another  dnmi  with  a  hole  big  enough  for  a 
dog  to  crawl  through  ? 

Khessin. 

Don't  get  excited,  Leibke.  You  are  a  very  talented 
man,  and  your  music  will  be  fine,  and  David  Leizer 
v/ill  be  greatly  moved  by  it. 

Violinist. 

But  I  can't  bear  it.  You  are  a  very  honorable 
man,  Abraham  Khessin,  you  have  Hved  long  in  the 
world,  but  have  you  ever  seen  such  a  big  hole  in 
a  dnun? 

Khessin. 

No,  Leibke,  I  haven't  seen  such  a  big  hole,  but  that 
is  not  at  aU  important.  David  Leizer  was  a  multi- 
millionaire, he  had  twenty  million  roubles,  but  he 


I04  ANATHEMA  [act  ni 

is  unspoiled  and  humble,  and  your  love  will  afford 
him  joy.  Does  the  soul  need  a  drum  to  be  able 
to  express  its  love?  I  see  here  people  who  have 
neither  drums  nor  trumpets,  and  who  weep  for 
happiness  —  their  tears  are  noiseless  like  the  dew. 
—  Rise  higher,  Leibke,  rise  a  little  higher  to  the 
sky,  and  you  will  not  hear  any  drums  there,  but 
therefore  you  will  hear  the  tears  falling. 

Old  Man. 

You  mustn't  quarrel  and  darken  the  days  of 
bright  happiness,  —  that  would  be  disagreeable  to 
David. 

A  Wanderer  is  listening  to  their  conversation;  his  face  is 
stern  and  swarthy.  His  hair  and  his  clothes  are  covered 
with  dust.  He  is  guarded  in  his  movements,  but  his 
eyes,  lustreless,  stare  ahead  fixedly,  like  open  windows 
at  night. 

Wanderer. 

He  has  brought  peace  and  happiness  on  earth,  and 
the  whole  world  knows  of  him  already.  I  have 
come  from  distant  places,  where  the  people  are 
different  from  you,  and  where  the  customs  are 
different  from  yours,  and  only  in  their  suffering  and 
their  misery  they  are  your  brethren.  And  there 
they    know    already    about    David    Leizer,  who 


ACT  ni]  ANATHEMA  105 

distributes  bread  and  happiness,  and  they  bless 
his  name. 

Khessin. 
Do  you  hear,  Sarah  ? 

Wiping  his  eyes. 

It  is  of  your  husband  they  are  speaking,  of  David 
Leizer. 

Sarah. 

I  hear,  Abraham,  I  hear  everything.  But  I  hear 
no  longer  the  voice  of  Naum  who  died ;  I  hear  no 
longer  the  voice  of  Rosa.  Old  man,  you  have 
wandered  much  over  the  world,  and  you  know  even 
the  people  that  do  not  resemble  us,  —  have  you 
not  met  on  the  road  a  beautiful  girl,  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  girls  on  earth  ? 

Bezkrainy. 

She  had  a  daughter,  Rosa,  a  beautiful  girl,  she  ran 
away  from  home  because  she  would  not  give  up 
her  share  to  the  poor.  Did  she  take  much  money 
along  with  her,  Sarah  ? 

Sarah. 

Can  there  be  such  a  thing  as  too  much  money  for 
Rosa  ?    You  may  as  well  say  that  there  are  too 


io6^  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

many  diamonds  in  the  Czar's  crown  and  too  many 
rays  in  the  sun. 

Wanderer. 

No,  I  have  not  seen  your  daughter :  I  am  traveling 
along  the  highways,  and  there  you  can  see  neither 
the  rich  nor  the  beautiful. 

Sarah. 

But  perhaps  you  have  seen  people  gathered,  talk- 
ing enthusiastically  about  a  certain  beautiful  girl  ? 
That  is  my  daughter,  old  man. 

Wanderer. 

No,  I  have  not  seen  such  people.  But  I  have 
seen  other  people  gathered,  speaking  about  David 
Leizer,  who  is  distributing  bread  and  happiness. 
Is  it  true  that  your  David  has  healed  a  woman 
who  was  suffering  from  an  incurable  disease  and 
was  already  dying  ? 

Khessest. 
Smiling. 

No,  that  is  not  true. 

Wanderer. 

Is  it  true  that  David  restored  sight  to  a  man 
who  was  blind  from  the  day  of  his  birth? 


ACT  ml  ANATHEMA  107 

Khessin. 

Shaking  his  head. 

No,  that  is  not  true.  Some  one  has  been  deceiving 
the  people  who  do  not  resemble  us.  Only  God 
can  perform  miracles  —  David  Leizer  is  only  a 
kind-hearted  and  worthy  man,  such  as  all  men 
who  have  not  forgotten  God  should  be. 

PUETKF.S. 

It  is  not  true,  Abraham  Khessin.  David  is  not 
an  ordinary  man,  and  he  possesses  a  superhuman 
power.    I  know  it. 

The  crowd  that  surrounded    them   is   eagerly  listening  to 
Purikes. 

PURIKES. 

I  saw  with  my  own  eyes,  how  the  one  we  regarded 
as  a  customer  came  upon  the  deserted,  sunny  road, 
but  he  was  not  a  customer.  I  saw  with  my  own 
eyes  how  he  touched  David  with  his  hand,  and 
David  started  to  speak  so  terribly  that  I  could 
not  listen  to  him.     Do  you  remember  it,  Ivan  ? 

Bezkrainy. 
That's  true.    David  is  not  an  ordinary  man. 


io8  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

SONKA.. 

Does  an  ordinary  man  throw  money  at  people, 
like  stones  at  a  dog  ?  Does  an  ordinary  man  go  to 
weep  over  the  grave  of  another's  child,  whom  he 
did  not  bring  forth,  whom  he  did  not  fondle,  and 
whom  he  did  not  bury  when  death  came  ? 

Woman. 
With  child  in  her  arms. 

David  is  not  an  ordinary  man.  Who  ever  saw  an 
ordinary  man  who  was  more  a  mother  to  a  child 
than  his  own  mother?  Who  hides  behind  the 
bed-curtain  and  watches  how  other  people's 
children  are  eating,  and  who  weeps  for  joy  at  the 
sight  of  them  ?  Of  whom  even  the  tiniest  children 
are  not  afraid,  and  they  play  with  his  venerable 
beard  as  with  the  beard  of  their  grandfather? 
Did  not  the  stupid  little  Rubin  tear  out  a  tuft  of 
grey  hair  from  David  Leizer's  venerable  beard? 
Did  David  grow  angry  ?  Did  he  cry  out  for  pain, 
did  he  stamp  his  feet  ?  No,  he  began  to  laugh  as  if 
overcome  with  happiness,  and  he  cried  as  though 
for  joy. 

Drunkard. 

David  is  not  an .  ordinary  man.  He  is  a  queer 
fellow.    I  said  to  him :    "  Why  do  you  give  me 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  109 

money  ?  It  is  true,  I  am  barefooted  and  unwashed, 
but  do  not  think  that  I  will  buy  boots  and  soap  for 
the  money  you  give  me.  I'll  spend  it  on  drink  in 
the  nearest  dram-shop."  That's  what  I  had  to 
tell  him,  for  although  I  am  a  drunkard,  I  am  an 
honest  man.  And  the  queer  David  answered  me 
jestingly,  like  a  good-natured  lunatic :  "  Semyon, 
if  it  pleases  you  to  drink,  please  drink,  —  I  have  not 
come  to  teach  the  people  but  to  bring  them  joy." 

Old  Jew. 

There  are  many  teachers,  but  there  is  none  to  bring 
them  joy.  May  God  bless  David  who  brings  joy 
to  mankind. 

Bezkratny. 
To  the  drunkard. 

So  you  didn't  buy  any  boots,  did  you  ? 

Drunkard. 
No,  I  am  an  honest  man. 

Violinist. 

In  despair. 

WeU,  tell  me  aU,  you  who  have  any  conscience: 
Is  this  the  kind  of  music  that  should  greet  him 
who  brings  joy  to  mankind  ?    I  am  ashamed  that 


no  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

I  have  gotten  together  such  a  poor  orchestra,  and 
I  would  rather  die  than  disgrace  myself  before 
David. 

Sarah. 
To  the  organ-grinder. 

Will  you  also  play  ?  You  have  such  a  fine  organ 
now  that  even  angels  might  dance  to  your  music. 

Organ-grinder. 
IwiU. 

Sarah. 

But  why  have  you  no  monkey  ? 

Organ-grinder. 

I  couldn't  find  a  good  monkey.  All  the  monkeys 
I  have  seen  are  either  old,  or  mean,  or  altogether 
untalented,  and  are  even  unable  to  catch  fleas. 
The  fleas  have  already  destroyed  one  of  my  mon- 
keys, and  I  don't  want  another  monkey  destroyed 
that  way.  A  monkey  needs  talent,  just  like  a  man, 
—  it  isn't  enough  to  have  a  tail,  even  to  be  a 
monkey. 
The  wanderer  is  questioning  Khessin  in  a  low  voice. 

Wanderer. 
TeU  me  the  truth,  Jew:   I  was  sent  here  by  my 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  iii 

people,  and  I  walked  many  miles  on  my  old  legs, 
under  the  mercilessly  scorching  sun,  for  the 
purpose  of  learning  the  truth.  Who  is  this  David 
who  brings  joy  to  mankind.  Let  it  be  as  you 
say  that  he  does  not  heal  the  sick.  .  .  . 

Khessin. 

It  is  a  sin  and  an  offence  against  God  to  think 
that  a  human  being  can  heal. 

Wanderer. 

Be  it  so.  But  is  it  not  true  that  Leizer  wants  to 
build  an  enormous  palace  of  white  stone  and  blue 
glass  and  gather  together  all  the  poor  of  the  world 
there  ? 

Khessin. 

In  embarrassment. 

I  do  not  know.  Is  it  possible  to  build  such  a  large 
palace  ? 

Wanderer. 

With  conviction. 

It  is  possible.  Is  it  true  that  he  wants  to  take  away 
the  power  from  the  rich  and  bestow  it  upon  the 
poor?  {In  a  whisper.)  And  to  take  the  power 
from  those  who  rule,  the  might  from  those  who 


112  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

are  in  command,  and  distribute  it  among  all  the 
people  on  earth,  giving  an  equal  share  to  each  of 
them? 

Khessin. 
I  do  not  know 

Timidly. 

You  frighten  me,  old  man. 

Wanderer. 

Looking  around  cautiously. 

And  is  it  true  that  he  has  already  sent  heralds 
to  the  black  people  that  they,  too,  shall  prepare 
themselves  to  accept  the  new  kingdom,  for  he  wants 
to  bestow  the  power  equally  upon  the  black  as  upon 
the  white,  giving  to  each  one  according  to  his 
desire.     {In  a  mysterious  whisper.) 

In  accordance  with  justice. 

On  the  road  appears  David  Leizer,  walking  slowly;  in  his 
right  hand,  a  staff;  Anathema  is  holding  his  left  arm 
reverently.  There  is  agitation  and  confusion  among 
the  waiting  crowd:  the  musicians  rush  for  their 
instruments;  the  women  pick  up  their  children  quickly. 
They  shout:  "He^s  coming  I  He^s  coming  I"  They 
call:  "Moishe,  Petya,  Sarah/" 

Wanderer. 
And  is  it  true  .  . . 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  113 

Khessin. 
Ask  him.    Here  he  is  coming. 

Noticing  the  crowd,  Anathema  stops  David,  who  is  absorbed 
in  thought,  and  he  points  triumphantly  to  the  people. 
Thus  they  stand  for  some  time:  David  with  his  grey 
head  thrown  back,  and  Anathema  clinging  close  to 
him.  Anathema  whispers  something  in  David's  ear 
and  keeps  on  pointing  with  his  left  hand.  Leibke, 
bustling  about  desperately,  gets  his  orchestra  together 
and  they  begin  to  play  a  lively  wild  tune  which  is  as 
discordant  as  the  fluttering  parti-colored  rags.  Shout- 
ing, laughter,  the  children  are  rushing  forward,  some 
one  is  crying;  many  people  are  outstretching  their 
hands  prayerfully  to  David.  Then  David  moves 
forward  amidst  this  chaos  of  lively  sounds.  The 
crowd  makes  room  for  him  to  pass;  many  throw 
branches  and  twigs  on  the  ground  and  spread  their 
clothes  before  him;  women  tear  of  their  head-dress  and 
throw  it  at  his  feet  on  the  dusty  road.  Thus  he  walks 
over  to  Sarah,  who  rises  and  welcomes  him  together 
with  the  other  women.  The  mu^ic  stops.  But  David 
is  silent.    Confusion. 

Khessin. 

Why  are  you  silent,  David  ?  The  people  you  have 
made  happy  are  greeting  you  and  spreading  their 
clothing  before  you  on  the  ground,  for  their  love 
is  great  and  their  hearts  cannot  comprise  all  their 
joy.     Say  a  word  to  them  —  they  are  waiting. 


114  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

David  remains  standing,  with  lowered  eyes;  with  both  hands 
he  is  leaning  on  his  staff;  his  face  is  stern  and  serious. 
Anathema  looks  at  him,  over  his  shoulder,  with  alarm. 

Anathema. 

They  are  waiting  for  you,  David.  Say  unto  them 
a  word  of  joy  and  cahn  their  love. 

David  is  silent. 

Woman. 

Why  are  you  silent,  David?  You  frighten  us. 
Are  you  not  the  David  who  brings  joy  to  mankind  ? 

Anathema. 
Impatiently. 

Speak,  David.  Their  agitated  ears  are  waiting 
for  a  word  of  joy  and  by  your  silence,  which  is  like 
the  dumbness  of  the  rock,  you  crush  their  soul  to 
the  earth.    Speak ! 

Davh). 

Lifting  his  eyes  and  surveying  the  crowd  sternly. 

Wherefore  these  honors  and  the  noise  of  voices, 
and  the  music  which  plays  so  loudly  ?  To  whom 
do  you  render  honors  worthy  of  a  prince  or  of  one 
who  has  performed  a  great  deed  ?    Is  it  before  me, 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  115 

before  a  poor  old  man  who  must  die  soon,  that 
you  spread  out  your  clothes  upon  the  ground? 
What  have  I  done  to  deserve  your  delight  and 
exultation,  to  force  tears  of  senseless  joy  from  your 
eyes  ?  I  gave  you  money  and  bread  —  but  that 
was  the  money  of  the  Uppermost,  it  came  from  Him 
and  went  back  to  Him  through  you.  The  only 
thing  I  have  done  was  not  to  hide  the  money  like 
a  thief,  I  did  not  become  a  plunderer,  like  those 
who  have  forgotten  God.  Do  I  speak  properly, 
NulHus? 

Anathema. 

No,  David,  no.  Your  speech  is  not  worthy  of  a 
wise  man  and  it  does  not  come  forth  from  the  lips 
of  a  humble  man. 

Old  Man. 

Bread  without  love  is  like  grass  without  salt,  — 
the  stomach  may  be  filled,  but  it  leaves  a  bad  taste 
in  the  mouth,  and  a  bitter  recollection. 

David. 

Have  I  forgotten  anything,  Nullius  ?  Remind  me, 
my  friend :  I  am  old  and  my  eyesight  is  poor,  but 
do  I  not  see  musicians  there,  NuUius  ?    Tell  me  ! 


n6  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

Do  I  not  see  flags  as  red  as  the  tongues  of  crows 
over  my  head  ?    Tell  me,  Nullius. 

Anathema. 

You  have  forgotten  the  people,  David.  You  do 
not  see  the  children,  David  Leizer. 

David. 
The  children? 

The  women,  weeping,  hold  otU  their  children  to  David. 

Voices. 

''Bless  my  son,  David  !"  .  .  .  "Touch  my  little 
girl  with  your  hand,'  David."  ''Bless."  .  .  . 
"Touch  her  with  your  hand."  .  .  . 

David. 

Raising  his  hands  heavenward. 

Oh,  Hannah,  oh,  Benjamin,  oh,  Raphael,  and  my 
little  Moishe !  .  .  . 

Looks  down,  otUstretching  his  arms  to  the  children. 

David. 

Oh,  my  little  birds  who  died  on  the  naked  branches 
of  the  winter!  .  .  .  Oh,  children,  my  children,  little 
children,  tiny  children!  .  .  .    Well,  Nullius,  am 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  117 

I  not  weeping?  Am  I  not  weeping,  Nnllius? 
Well,  let  everybody  weep.  Let  the  musicians 
play,  Nullius  —  I  understand  everything  now.  Oh, 
children,  Uttle  children,  I  gave  you  all,  I  gave 
you  my  old  heart,  I  gave  you  my  sorrow  and 
my  joy  —  Did  I  not  give  them  all  my  soul, 
NuUius  ? 

Crying  and  laughing  through  tears. 

You  have  again  wrenched  my  soul  from  the  jaws  of 
sin,  NuUius.  On  the  day  of  rejoicing  I  appeared 
mournful  before  the  people,  on  the  day  of  the 
people's  exultation  I  did  not  raise  my  eyes  to 
Heaven,  but  lowered  them  to  the  ground,  —  bad 
old  man  that  I  am.  Whom  did  I  want  to  deceive 
with  my  insincerity?  Do  I  not  live  by  day  and 
night  in  raptures  of  joy,  and  do  I  not  draw  love 
and  happiness  with  full  hands?  Why  have  I 
feigned  sadness  ?  .  .  .  I  do  not  know  your  name, 
woman;  give  me  your  child,  the  one  that  is  laugh- 
ing when  everybody  is  crying,  because  he  alone  is 
sensible. 

Smiling  through  tears. 

Or  are  you  perhaps  afraid  that  I  will  steal  it  like 
a  gypsy? 

The  woman  kneels  and  holds  out  her  child. 


ii8  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

Woman. 

Take  it,  David  !  Everything  belongs  to  you,  — 
we  and  our  children. 

Second  Woman. 
Take  mine,  too,  David ! 

Third  Woman. 
Mine,  mine ! 

David. 

Takes  the  child  and  presses  it  to  his  breast,  covering  it  with  his 
grey  beard. 

Hush!  .  .  .  It's  my  beard  !  Oh,  what  a  terrible 
beard  !  But  never  fear,  my  little  one,  press  to  me 
more  closely  and  laugh  —  you  are  the  wisest  of  all. 
Sarah,  my  wife,  come  over  here. 

Sarah. 

Weeping. 
I  am  here. 

David. 

Let  us  step  aside  for  a  while.  Woman,  I  will  return 
the  child  to  you,  I  will  only  hold  it  for  a  while.  .  .  . 
Come,  Sarah,  let  us  step  aside.    Before  you  I  am 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  119 

not  ashamed  to  cry,  be  they  tears  of  sorrow  or 
tears  of  joy. 

They  step  aside  and  cry  softly.  Only  their  stooping  hacks 
are  seen,  and  David's  red  handkerchief  with  which 
he  wipes  his  eyes,  and  the  tear-stained  face  of  the  child. 

Voices. 

Hush !   hush !     They    are    crying.     Don't    dis- 
turb their  crying.     Hush  !   hush  ! 

Anathema,  on  tiptoe,  whispers :  "Hush,  hush!"  Then  he 
goes  over  to  the  musicians  and  speaks  to  them  in  a 
low  voice,  conducting  with  his  hand.  Little  by  little 
the  noise  grows  louder.  Bezkrainy,  Purikes,  and 
Sonka  are  waiting,  holding  filled  glasses  in  their 
hands. 

David. 

Returns  and  wipes  his  eyes  with  his  kerchief. 

Here  is  your  child,  woman.    We  don't  like  him 
at  all,  do  we,  Sarah? 

Sarah. 

Weeping. 

We  have  no  children  any  longer,  David. 

David. 

Smiling. 

No,  no,  Sarah !    But  are  not  all  the  children  in 
the   world   our   children?    He   has   no    children 


I20  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

who  has  three,  six,  or  even  twelve,  but  not  he  who 
knows  not  their  number. 

SONKA. 

Drink  a  glass  of  soda-water,  honorable  David 
Leizer  —  it  is  your  water. 

PUBTKES. 

Drink  a  glass  of  mine,  David,  —  this  will  bring 
me  customers. 

■  Bezkeiainy. 

Drink  a  glass  of  noblemen's  cider,  David.  Now 
it  is  real  noblemen's  cider.  I  can  say  it  frankly ; 
with  your  money  everything  is  becoming  real. 

Sarah. 

Through  tears. 

I  have  always  told  you  that  your  cider  was  bad, 
Ivan.  And  now,  when  it  is  real  cider,  you  do 
not  ofiEer  it  to  me. 

Bezkrainy. 
Oh,  Sarah  .  .  . 

David. 

She  is  jesting,  Ivan.  Thank  you,  but  I  cannot 
drink  so  much,  —  I  will  taste  everybody's.     It's 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  121 

very,  very  good  water,  Sonka.  You  have  dis- 
covered the  secret  and  you  will  soon  grow  rich. 

Sonka. 
I  put  a  little  more  soda  into  the  water,  David. 

Wanderer. 

To  Anathema,  in  a  low  voice. 

Is  it  true  —  you  are  a  close  friend  of  David 
Leizer's,  and  you  can  tell  it  to  me  —  is  it  true  that 
he  wants  to  build  — 

Anathema. 
Why  so  loud?    Let  us  step  aside. 

They  speak  in  a  whisper.  Anathema  shakes  his  head  nega- 
tively. He  is  truthful.  He  smiles  and  pats  the  old  man 
on  the  shoulder.  The  old  man  evidently  does  not  believe 
him.  Then  Anathema  gradually  leads  the  musicians 
away,  also  the  Organ-grinder  and  the  people  beyond 
the  stone  pillars.  Only  the  sound  of  their  voices, 
their  exclamations,  their  laughter  are  iieard.  A  few 
remain  and  speak  with  David  reverently. 

Keessin. 

Is  it  true,  David,  that  you  and  Sarah  are  going 
to  Jerusalem,  to  the  Holy  City,  of  which  we  can 
only  dream? 


122  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

David. 

Yes,  it  is  true,  Abraham.  Although  I  am  stronger 
now  and  I  feel  no  longer  any  pain  in  my  chest  — 

Khessin. 
But  that  is  a  miracle,  David! 

David. 

Joy  restores  health,  Abraham,  and  the  serving 
of  God  strengthens  a  man.  But  after  all,  Sarah 
and  I  cannot  Uve  much  longer,  and  we  should  like 
to  rest  our  eyes  upon  the  wonderful  beauty  of 
God's  land.  But  why  do  you  address  me  as  a 
stranger,  old  friend?  Have  you  not  yet  for- 
given me? 

Kjhessin. 
Frightened. 

Oh,  do  not  say  that,  David !  If  you  were  to 
tell  me :  Call  me  "  thou"  or  kill  yourself,  I  would 
rather  kUl  myself,  but  would  not  say  "thou"  to 
you.    You  are  not  an  ordinary  man,  David. 

David. 

I  am  not  an  ordinary  man.  I  am  a  happy  man. 
But  where  is  the  gay  man  NuUius?    I  don't  see 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  123 

him.  I  suppose  he  is  preparing  some  prank  or 
another  —  I  know  him.  There  is  a  man  who 
does  not  darken  the  face  of  the  earth  with  gloom, 
Abraham,  who  is  never  averse  to  laughter,  which 
is  to  life  like  dew  upon  grass,  and  which  sparkles 
in  many  colors  in  the  rays  of  the  sun.  Of  course 
he  is  playing  his  pranks;  do  you  hear? 

Music  is  playing  beyond  the  pillars;  the  organ,  together 
with  the  orchestra,  is  playing  the  same  tune  it  had  played 
before.  The  sounds  are  discordant,  somewhat  wild, 
but  strangely  gay.  Together  with  the  music  the 
crowd  appears  in  a  solemn  procession.  At  the  head 
oj  the  procession,  side  by  side  with  the  Organ-grinder, 
walks  Anathema,  as  if  dancing.  He  carries  the  organ 
on  a  strap  and  turns  the  handle  with  one  hand,  keeping 
time  with  the  other  hand,  whistling  shrilly,  and  casting 
glances  on  all  sides  and  skyward.  The  musicians  and 
the  poor,  new  gay,  follow  him.  On  passing  David, 
Anathema  bends  his  head  toward  him  and  keeps  on 
playing  and  whistling.  David,  smiling,  nods  his  head 
and  adjusts  his  grey,  long  beard.  The  procession 
disappears. 

Sarah. 

With  emotion. 

What  beautiful  music !    How  fine,  how  solemn, 

David!    David,  is  all  this  for  you? 

David. 
For  us,  Sarah. 


124  ANATHEMA  [act  in 

Sarah. 

What  am  I  ?  I  can  only  love  our  children.  But 
you,  but  you  — 

With  certain  fear. 

You  are  not  an  ordinary  man,  David. 

David. 

Smiling. 

So,  so  .  .  .  Well,  what  am  I,  then,  —  a  governor  ? 
Or,  perhaps,  a  general  ? 

'  Sarah. 

Do  not  make  light  of  this,  David.  You  are  not 
an  ordinary  man. 

The  Wanderer,  who  stood  near  by  all  the  time  and  saw  the 
solemn  procession,  now  listens  to  Sarah's  words  and 
nods  his  head.  Anathema,  gay,  somewhat  out  of 
breath,  appears. 

Anathema. 

How  was  it,  David?  I  think  it  was  not  bad. 
They  marched  very  well  —  better  than  I  expected. 
Only  that  stupid  trumpet. 

Dancing,  he  passes  David  again,  whistling.  Then  he  bursts 
into  laughter. 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  125 

David. 

Good-naturedly. 

Yes,  Nullius.  The  music  was  very  good.  I 
never  before  heard  such  fine  music.  I  thank 
you,  Nullius,  —  you  have  afforded  great  pleasure 
to  the  people  by  your  gayety. 

Anathema, 

To  the  Wanderer. 

Did  you  like  it,  old  man? 

Wanderer. 

I  liked  it  fairly  well.  But  what  will  happen 
when  all  the  nations  on  earth  will  bend  at  the 
feet  of  David  Leizer? 


David. 

Astonished. 

What  is  he  saying,  Nullius? 


Anathema. 

Oh,  David,  it  is  very  touching:  the  people  are 
in  love  with  you,  even  as  a  bride  is  in  love  with 
the  bridegroom.  This  wonderful  man,  who  has 
come  thousands  of  miles  — 


126  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

Wanderer. 


More. 


Anathema. 


Asked  me :  "Does  David  Leizer  perform  miracles ? " 
Well,  ...  I  laughed,  I  laughed. 

Khessin. 

He  asked  me,  too,  but  to  me  it  was  not  laughable. 
The  ear  of  him  who  waits  is  keen,  —  even  the 
stones  seem  to  sing  to  him. 

Wanderer. 

Only  the  footsteps  of  the  blind  are  short,  but 
their  thoughts  are  long. 

He  steps  aside  and  watches  David.  It  is  near  sunset  and  the 
earth  is  in  the  embrace  of  shadows.  Abraham  Khessin 
bids  David  farewell  and  goes  away.  The  shopkeepers 
prepare  to  close  their  shops.    Silence  and  peace. 

Anathema. 
Breathing  with  diffictdty. 

At  last.  We  have  worked  quite  hard,  David  — 
the  trumpet  alone  (doses  his  ears  —  what  is  that 
worth  ?  (Candidly)  My  misfortune  is  that  my  ear 
is  keen,  unbearably  sharp,  almost  —  yes,  almost 
like  that  of  a  dog.    If  I  hear  — 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  127 

David. 

I  am  very  tired,  Nullius,  and  I  want  to  rest.  I 
do  not  feel  like  seeing  any  more  people  to-day,  and 
you  will  not  be  offended,  my  old  friend  — 

Anathema. 

I  understand.  I  will  only  escort  you  to  your 
palace. 

David. 

Yes,  yes,  to  my  palace.  According  to  my  con- 
tract, I  am  king  for  six  months  more.  Come, 
Sarah,  —  with  you  alone  I  want  to  pass  the  re- 
mainder of  this  great  day  in  peace  and  joy. 

Sarah. 

You  are  not  an  ordinary  man,  David.  How 
did  you  guess  my  desire  ? 

They  go  away  towards  the  pillars.    David  pauses,  looks 
hack,  and  says,  leaning  upon  Sarah's  shoulder: 

David. 

Look,  Sarah ;  this  is  the  place  where  our  life  has 
passed  —  how  sad  and  poor  it  is,  Sarah,  and  it 
breathes  of  the  homelessness  of  the  desert.  But  was 
not  it  here,  Sarah,  that  I  learned  the  great  truth 
concerning  the  fate  of  man  ?    I  was  poor,  alone,  and 


128  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

near  death,  a  foolish  old  man,  seeking  an  answer 
from  the  waves.  But  now  people  have  come  — 
Am  I  alone  now?  Am  I  poor  and  near  death? 
Listen  to  me,  Nullius ;  there  is  no  death  for  man. 
What  death  is  there?  What  is  death?  Who 
was  the  mournful  one  that  invented  this  strange 
word  —  Death?  Perhaps  it  does  exist,  I  do  not 
know  —  but  I,  NuUius  —  I  am  immortal. 

As  though  struck,  he  bends  down,  but  lifts  his  arms  upward. 

Oh,  how  terrible  it  is :  I  am  immortal !  Where 
is  the  end  of  the  sky  ?  I  have  lost  it.  I  am  im- 
mortal !  Oh,  the  breast  of  man  aches  from  im- 
mortaUty,  and  his  joy  bums  him  like  a  fire.  Where 
is  the  end  of  man  ?  —  I  am  immortal.  Adenoi ! 
Adenoi !  Blessed  be  the  mysterious  name  of 
Him  who  has  given  immortahty  to  man,  forever 
and  aye. 

Anathema. 
Hastily. 

The  name  !  The  name  !  Do  you  know  the  name  ? 
You  have  deceived  me. 

David. 

Not  listening  to  him. 

I  give  the  spirit  of  man  over  to  the  boundless 
space  of  Time.    May  it  live  immortally,  in  the 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  129 

immortality  of  fire.  May  it  live  immortally  in 
the  immortality  of  light,  which  is  Ufe.  And  may 
darkness  stop  before  the  dwelling  of  immortal 
light.    I  am  happy,  I  am  immortal  —  0  my  God  ! 

Anathema. 
Ecstatically. 

It  is  a  lie  !    Oh,  how  long  yet  will  I  listen  to  this 

fooHsh  man?    North  and  South,  East  and  West, 

I  am  calling  you.     Quicker,  come  here,   to  the 

aid  of  the  Devil !    Rush  over  here  in  four  oceans 

of  tears  and  bury  man  in  your  abyss.     Come 

here  !    This  way  ! 

No  one  heeds  Anathema's  sobs,  neither  David,  radiant  with 
the  ecstasy  of  immortality,  nor  Sarah,  nor  the  other 
people,  who  listen  attentively  to  David.  Anathema 
moves  restlessly  about,  alone,  cursing.  A  shrill  voice  is 
heard;  a  woman,  terribly  painted,  rushes  in  from  the 
road.  Her  clothes  are  torn,  and  her  beautiful  face  is 
disfigured.    She  screams  and  sobs  and  calls  wildly. 

.  Woman. 

My  God !  Where  is  David,  who  is  distributing 
his  f ortime  ?  Two  days  and  two  nights,  two  days 
and  two  nights,  I  have  been  looking  for  him  all 
over  the  city,  but  the  houses  are  silent  and  the 
people  are  laughing.    Tell  me,  kind  people,  have 


I30  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

you  not  seen  David,  who  brings  joy  to  the  people  ? 
Do  not  look  upon  my  open  bosom  —  a  wicked 
man  tore  my  clothes  and  scratched  my  face.  Oh, 
do  not  look  upon  my  open  bosom :  it  never  knew 
the  happiness  of  feeding  innocent  Hps. 

Wanderer. 
David  is.  here. 

Woman. 

Falling  on  her  knees, 

David  is  here?  Oh,  have  pity  on  me,  people!  do 
not  deceive  me;  I  am  blinded  by  deceit,  and 
falsehoods  have  made  me  deaf.  Do  I  hear  right  ? 
Is  David  here  ? 

Bezkrainy. 

Yes,  there  he  stands.  But  you  are  too  late  — 
he  has  already  distributed  all  his  fortime. 

PURTKES. 

He  has  already  distributed  all  his  fortune. 

Woman. 

What  are  you  doing  to  me,  people?  Two  days 
and  two  nights  I  have  been  looking  for  him  — 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  131 

the  people  deceived  me,  and  now  I  am  too  late. 
I  will  die  on  the  way  now  —  I  have  nowhere  else 
to  go. 

Tearfully,  flings  herself  about  on  the  dust-covered  road. 

Anathema. 
It  seems  that  somebody  has  come  to  you,  David. 

David. 

Advancing. 

What  does  this  woman  wish? 
Woman. 

Without  lifting  her  head. 

Are  you  David,  who  has  brought  joy  to  mankind  ? 


Yes,  it  is  he. 

Wanderer. 

Yes,  it  is  I. 

David. 

Woman. 

Without  lifting  her  head. 

I  do  not  dare  glance  at  you.    You  must  be  like  the 
sun. 

Gently  and  trustfully. 


132  ANATHEMA  [act  in 

Oh,  David,  how  long  I  have  been  looking  for  you ! . . . 
The  people  kept  deceiving  me  all  the  time.  They 
told  me  that  you  went  away,  that  you  do  not 
exist  at  all,  and  that  you  never  existed.  One 
man  said  to  me  that  he  was  David,  and  he  seemed 
to  be  kind,  but  he  treated  me  like  a  robber. 

David. 
Rise! 

Woman. 

Permit  me  to  rest  here,  at  your  feet.  Like  a  bird 
that  has  crossed  the  sea,  I  am  beaten  by  the  rain, 
I  am  exhausted  by  the  storms,  I  am  tired  to  death. 
Weeps;  continues  trustfully. 

Now  I  am  calm,  now  I  am  happy:  I  am  at  the 
feet  of  David,  who  has  brought  joy  to  mankind. 

David. 

Irresolutely. 

But  you  have  come  too  late,  woman.  I  have 
already  given  away  everything  I  had,  and  I 
have  nothing  left. 

Anathema. 

Yes.  We  have  distributed  all  the  money.  Go 
home,  woman,  —  we  have  nothing  left.    We  feel 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  133 

sorry  for  you,  but  you  are  too  late.  Do  you  un- 
derstand ?  You  are  too  late,  —  only  this  morning 
we  gave  away  the  last  penny. 

David. 

Don't  be  so  cruel,  Nullius. 

Anathema. 
But  it  is  the  truth,  David. 

Woman. 

Doubiingly. 

That  is  impossible ! 

Lifting  her  eyes. 

Are  you  David?  How  kind-hearted  you  are. 
Did  you  say  that  I  am  too  late?  No,  he  said 
it  —  his  face  is  mean.  David,  please  give  me 
some  money  and  save  me.  I  am  tired  to  death. 
And  your  name  is  Sarah?  You  are  his  wife? 
I  have  heard  about  you,  too. 

Crawls  over  to  her  and  kisses  her  dress. 

Woman. 
Plead  for  me,  Sarah. 


134  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

Sarah. 
Weeping.  * 

Give  her  some  money,  David.  Get  up,  my  dear; 
it  is  very  dusty  here  —  you  have  such  beautiful 
black  hair.  Sit  down  here,  and  rest  yourself. 
David  will  soon  give  you  money. 

Lifis  the  woman  and  seats  her  near  herself  upon  a  rock,  and 
caresses  her. 

David. 

What  shall  I  do? 

Confusedly;  wiping  his  face  with  a  red  kerchief. 

What  shall  I  do,  Nullius?  You  are  such  a  wise 
man,  —  help  me. 

Anathema. 

Outstretching  his  arms. 

By  God,  I  do  not  know.  Here  is  the  list  —  we 
have  not  a  cent,  and  I  am  an  honest  lawyer,  not 
a  counterfeiter.  I  can't  bring  you  every  day  an 
inheritance  from  America. 

Whistles. 

I  have  nothing  to  do,  so  I  roam  about  the 
world. 


Acr  m]  ANATHEMA  135 

David. 

IndignanUy. 

That  is  cruel,  Nullius.    I  did  not  expect  it  from 
you.    But  what  shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do? 
Anathema  shrugs  his  shoulders. 

Sarah. 

Sit  here,  my  dear;  I  will  come  back  soon.    David, 
let  us  step  aside;  I  must  tell  you  something. 
They  step  aside  and  whisper. 

Anathema. 

Did  they  beat  you  hard,  woman  ?  Evidently  the 
man  who  was  beating  you  was  not  skUlful  —  he 
did  not  knock  your  eyes  out,  as  he  wanted  to  do. 

Woman. 

Covering  her  face  with  her  hair. 
Do  not  look  upon  me ! 

Sarah. 
Nullius,  come  over  here. 

Anathema. 
Goes  to  her. 

Here  I  am,  madam  Leizer. 


136  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

David. 

In  a  low  voice. 

How  much  money  have  we  for  our  journey  to 
Jerusalem  ? 

Anathema. 
Three  himdred  roubles. 

David. 
Give  it  to  the  woman. 

Smiling  and  crying. 

Sarah  does  not  want  to  go  to  Jerusalem.    She 

wants  to  continue  in  business  here  until  death 

comes.    What   a   foolish   woman,   Nullius,   isn't 

she? 

Cries  restrainedly. 

Sarah. 

Does  that  cause  you  much  pain,  David?    Were 
you  so  eager  to  go  ? 

David. 

What  a  foolish  woman,  Nullius.    She  does  not 
understand  that  I  also  want  to  remain  in  busi- 
ness here. 
Cries. 


ACT  ml  ANATHEMA  137 

Anathema. 
Moved. 

You  are  not  an  ordinary  man,  David. 

David. 

It  was  my  dream,  Nullius,  to  die  in  the  Holy 
City  and  to  join  my  dust  to  the  dust  of  the  right- 
eous people  buried  there.  But  (he  smiles)  is  not 
the  ground  everywhere  kind  to  its  dead  ?  Give 
the  money  to  the  poor  woman.  Well,  Sarah,  how 
shall  it  be?  We  must  open  a  store  and  learn 
from  Sonka  how  to  make  good  soda-water. 

Anathema. 
Triumphantly. 

Woman,  David,  who  has  brought  joy  to  mankind, 
gives  you  money  and  happiness. 

Bezkrainy. 

To  Sonka. 

I  told  you  that  he  has  not  distributed  all  his 
money.    He  has  miUions. 

Wanderer. 
Lisiening. 

That's  right.  How  cotild  David  give  away  every- 
thing?   He  only  started  to  give  away. 


138  ANATHEMA  [act  ra 

The  woman  thanks  David  and  Sarah;  he  places  his  hands 
upon  her  head,  as  though  blessing  her.  Behind  him, 
from  the  side  oj  the  field,  something  grey  appears, 
dust-covered,  moving  slowly.  They  move  silently,  and 
it  is  hard  to  discern  at  first  that  they  are  human 
beings.  The  grey  dust  has  equalized  them  —  their 
distress  and  their  suffering  have  made  them  brethren. 
There  is  something  alarming  in  their  dull,  inflexible 
movement  —  and  the  people  look  upon  them  uneasily. 

Bezkrainy. 
Who  is  coming  there  on  the  road  ? 

SONKA.. 

Something  grey  is  crawling  along  the  road.  If 
they  are  human  beings,  they  do  not  look  like 
hmnan  beings. 

PlIRIKES. 

Oh,  I  am  afraid  for  David.  He  stands  with  his 
back  toward  them,  and  does  not  see  them.  And 
they  are  coming  like  blind  people. 

SONKA. 

They  will  soon  crush  him.  David,  David,  turn 
around  and  look. 

Anathema. 

It  is  too  late,  Sonka,  —  David  can't  hear  you  now. 


ACT  m]  ANATHEMA  139 

PUBTKES. 

But  who  is  that  ?    I  am  afraid  of  them. 

Wanderer. 

These  are  our  people !  These  are  blind  people 
from  our  land,  —  they  have  come  to  David  for 
their  eyesight. 

Lcmdly. 

Stop,  stop!  you  have  reached  your  destination. 
David  is  in  your  midst. 

The  blind,  almost  crushing  the  frightened  David,  pause  and 
seek  him  with  their  fingers. 

The  Blind. 

Where  is  David  ?  Help  us  to  find  David.  Where 
is  David,  who  brings  joy  to  mankind  ?  He  is  here. 
I  feel  him  already  with  my  fingers.  Are  you 
David?  Where  is  David?  Where  is  David? 
Are  you  David? 

David. 

Frightened  voices  come  out  of  the  darkness. 

It  is  I  —  I  am  David  Leizer.  What  is  it  you 
wish  of  me? 


140  ANATHEMA  [act  m 

Sarah. 
Weeping. 

David,  David,  where  are  you  ?    I  don't  see  you. 

The  Blind. 

Closing  in  around  him. 

Here  is  David.    Are  you  David  ?    David  !  David ! 

Curtain. 


ACT  FOUR. 

A  large,  high,  somewhat  dark  room  —  David's  study  in  the 
rich  villa  where  he  spends  his  last  days.  Two  large 
windows  in  the  room :  one  overlooking  the  road  to  the 
city;  the  other,  on  the  left,  overlooking  the  garden. 
Near  this  window,  a  large  writing-table,  covered 
with  papers  in  disorder  —  sheets  of  paper  of  various 
sizes,  and  large  hooks.  Under  the  table,  and  near  it, 
paper  torn  into  small  bits.  A  large  Bible,  bound  in  old 
leather,  lies  on  the  floor,  open,  with  its  back  upward, 
resembling  the  roof  of  a  house  which  is  falling  apart. 
Notwithstanding  the  heat,  there  is  a  fire  in  the  fire- 
place.   David  Leizer  feds  cold  and  feverish. 

It  is  growing  dark.  Through  the  lowered  blinds,  faint  sun- 
light comes  in,  but  it  is  already  dark  in  the  room. 
Only  the  small  lamp  on  the  table  brings  out  into  bold 
relief  the  white  heads  of  David  and  Anathema. 

David  is  sitting  by  the  table.  His  hair  and  beard,  unkempt 
for  some  time,  lend  him  a  savage  and  terrible  appear- 
ance; his  face  is  emaciated,  his  eyes  are  wide  open; 
clasping  his  head  with  both  hands,  he  stares  fixedly 
through  his  large  spectacles,  examines  a  paper,  throws 
it  aside,  takes  up  another  paper,  and  nervously  turns 
the  leaves  of  a  heavy  volume. 

Anathema  stands  near  him,  holding  the  back  of  his  arm-chair. 
He  is  motionless,  thoughtful,  and  stern. 
141 


142  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

The  windows  are  closed,  hut  through  the  closed  windows 
comes  the  muffled  noise  of  many  voices.  It  increases 
slowly,  wavering  in  force  and  impassionateness. 
Those  who  had  been  called  by  David  are  now  besieging 
his  house.    Silence. 

David. 

It  has  crumbled  away  into  dust,  Nullius !  The 
mountain  that  reached  the  sky  has  spht  into 
rocks,  the  rocks  have  turned  into  dust,  and  the 
wind  has  carried  the  dust  away.  Where  is  the 
mountain,  Nullius  ?  Where  are  the  millions  which 
you  brought  me?  Here  I  have  been  looking  for 
an  hour  through  my  papers  for  one  copeck,  only 
one  copeck,  that  I  may  give  it  to  him  who  asks 
for  it,  but  I  cannot  find  it.  What  is  lying  aroimd 
there  ? 


Anathema. 


The  Bible. 


David. 

No,  no,  I  mean  there,  among  the  papers.    Let 
me  have  it.    I  think  it  is  an  account  I  haven't 
examined  yet.    That  would  be  good  luck,  Nullius  ! 
Stares  intently. 
No,  it  is  all  crossed  out  here.    Look,  Nullius, 


ACT  ivl  ANATHEMA  143 

look!  A  hundred,  then  fifty,  then  twenty,  — 
and  then  one  copeck.  But  I  cannot  take  this  co- 
peck away  from  him,  can  I? 

Anathema. 
Six,  eight,  twenty,  —  correct. 

David. 

No,  no,  Nullius,  —  one  hundred,  fifty — twenty, 
—  one  copeck.  It  has  all  melted  away,  it  slipped 
through  my  fingers  like  water.  And  the  fingers 
are  dry  already  —  and  I  feel  cold,  Nullius ! 

Anathema. 
It  is  warm  here. 

Davh). 

I  say  it  is  cold  here,  Nullius.  Throw  some  logs 
of  wood  into  the  fireplace.  .  .  .  No,  wait.  How 
much  does  a  log  cost  ?  Oh,  it  costs  a  great  deal ; 
put  it  away,  NuUius, — this  accursed  fire  is  devour- 
ing wood  so  quickly,  as  though  it  did  not  know  that 
every  log  of  wood  is  —  a  life.  Wait,  Nullius.  .  .  . 
You  have  a  splendid  memory,  you  never  forget 
anything,  like  a  book  —  don't  you  remember  how 
much  I  designated  for  Abraham  Khessin? 


144  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

Anathema. 
At  first,  five  hundred. 

David. 

Yes,  yes,  NuUius,  of  course,  — he  is  an  old  friend 
of  mine;  we  used  to  play  together.  And  for  a 
friend  five  hundred  is  not  much  at  all.  Of  course, 
he  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  I  must  have  pitied 
him  and  left  to  him  more  than  to  the  others  in  the 
end  —  for  our  friendship  is  such  a  tender  feeling, 
NulHus.  But  it  is  bad  if  a  man  wrongs  strangers 
and  distant  people  on  account  of  a  friend  —  for 
they  have  no  friends  or  protection.  And  we 
will  cut  down  Abraham  Khessin's  allowance, 
we  will  cut  it  down  just  a  Uttle  bit.  .  .  . 
With  fear. 

Tell  me,  how  much  have  I  now  allowed  for  Abra- 
ham? 


One  copeck. 


Anathema. 


Davh). 


Impossible !  Tell  me  that  you  have  made  an 
error !  Have  pity  on  me,  and  tell  me  that  you 
have  made  an  error,  Nullius !    It   cannot  be  — 


ACT  iv]  ANATHEMA  145 

Abraham  is  my  friend  —  we  used  to  play  together. 
Do  you  understand  what  it  means  when  children 
play  together,  and  then  they  grow  up  and  they 
have  grey  beards,  and  they  smile  together  at  the 
past?     You  have  also  a  grey  beard,  NuUius. 

Anathema. 

Yes,  my  beard  is  grey.  You  allowed  one  copeck 
for  Khessin. 

David. 

Takes  Anathema  by  the  arm;  in  a  whisper. 

But  she  said  that  her  child  would  die,  Nullius, — 
that  he  is  dying  already.  Understand  me,  my 
old  friend,  I  must  have  money.  You  are  such 
a  fine  man,  you  are  (pats  his  arm)  such  a  kind 
man,  you  remember  everything,  like  a  book, — 
search  a  little  more. 

Anathema. 

Bethink  yourself,  David;  your  reason  is  betray- 
ing you.  It  is  already  two  days  that  you  have 
been  sitting  here  at  this  table,  looking  for  that 
which  is  no  more.  Go  out  to  the  people  who 
are  waiting  for  you,  tell  them  that  you  have 
nothing  left,  and  dismiss  them. 


146  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

David. 

Angrily. 

But  did  I  not  go  out  ten  times  already  to  the  people 
and  did  I  not  tell  them  that  I  have  nothing  left  ? 
Did  a  single  one  of  them  go  away?  They  stand 
and  wait  there,  and  they  are  firm  in  their  misery, 
like  a  rock,  obstinate  like  the  child  at  the  mother's 
breast.  Does  a  child  ask  whether  there  is  milk 
in  the  mother's  breast  ?  When  I  speak,  they  are 
silent  and  they  listen  to  me  like  reasonable  people ; 
but  when  I  become  silent,  the  spirit  of  despair 
and  want  seizes  upon  them  and  wails  in  a  thousand 
voices.  Did  I  not  give  everything  away  to  them, 
Nullius  ?  Did  I  not  cry  out  all  my  tears  ?  Did 
I  not  give  them  away  all  the  blood  of  my  heart  ? 
What  are  they  waiting  for,  Nullius?  What  do 
they  want  of  the  poor  Jew,  who  has  already 
exhausted  his  life?  .  .  . 

Anathema. 
They  are  waiting  for  a  miracle,  David. 

David. 

Rising,  with  fear. 

Be  silent,  Nullius,  be  silent, — you  are  tempting 
God.    Who  am  I  that  I  should  perform  miracles  ? 


ACT  iv]  ANATHEMA  147 

Bethink  yourself,  Nullius.  Can  I  make  two  co- 
pecks of  one  ?  Can  I  come  over  to  the  mountains 
and  say :  *'  Mountains  of  the  earth,  turn  into 
mountains  of  bread  and  satisfy  the  hunger  of  the 
himgry  "  ?  Can  I  come  over  to  the  ocean  and 
say :  "  Sea  of  water  as  salty  as  tears,  turn  into  a 
sea  of  milk  and  honey  and  quench  the  thirst  of 
the  thirsty  "  ?     Think  of  it,  NuUius  ! 

Anathema. 
Did  you  see  the  blind  ? 

David. 

Only  once  did  I  dare  hf t  my  eyes,  —  but  I  saw 
strange,  grey  people,  into  whose  eyes  some  one 
had  spat  something  white,  and  they  feel  the  air 
as  if  it  were  a  danger,  and  they  fear  the  earth 
as  though  it  were  a  horror.  What  do  they  want, 
Nullius? 

Anathema. 

Did  you  see  the  sick  and  the  maimed,  with  organs 
of  the  body  missing,  —  did  you  see  them  crawl 
on  the  groimd?  Out  of  the  pores  of  the  earth 
they  come  like  a  perspiration  of  blood  —  the  earth 
is  of  them. 


148  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

David. 
Be  silent,  Nullius. 

Anathema. 

Did  you  see  people  who  are  devoured  by  their 
conscience :  their  face  is  dark,  as  though  scorched 
by  fire,  and  their  eyes  are  surrounded  with  white 
rings,  and  they  run  about  in  a  circle  like  mad 
horses?  Did  you  see  people  who  look  straight 
ahead,  and  in  their  hands  they  hold  long  staffs 
for  measuring  the  road?  These  are  the  people 
searching    after    truth. 

David. 
I  dared  not  look  any  further. 

Anathema. 

Did  you  hear  the  voice  of  the  earth,  David? 

Enter  Sarah;  she  advances  to  David  timidly. 

Davh). 

Is  that  you,  Sarah?  Shut  the  door  tightly,  do 
not  leave  a  crevice  behind  you.  What  is  it  you 
wish,  Sarah? 


ACT  ivl  ANATHEMA  149 

Sarah. 

With  fear  and  faith. 

Are  you  not  entirely  prepared  yet,  David  ?  Make 
haste  and  go  out  to  the  people:  they  are  tired 
of  waiting  and  many  of  them  fear  death.  Dis- 
miss these,  for  others  are  coming,  David,  and  soon 
there  wiU  be  no  place  for  a  man  to  stand.  The 
water  has  already  given  out  in  the  fountains  and 
they  are  not  bringing  any  bread  from  the  city, 
as  you  have  ordered,  David. 

David. 

Uplifting  his  hands;  horrified. 

Awaken,  Sarah,  sleep  has  enmeshed  you  in  nets 

of  cunning  and  your  heart  is  poisoned  with  the 

madness  of  love.    It  is  I,  David !  .  .  . 

With  fear. 

And  I  did  not  command  to  bring  bread. 

Sarah. 

If  you  are  not  quite  ready,  David,  they  can  wait. 
But  order  lamps  lighted  and  give  bedding  for  the 
women  and  the  children,  —  for  night  will  soon  set 
in  and  the  earth  will  grow  cold.  And  order  them 
to  give  milk  to  the  children  —  they  are  starved. 
There,  in  the  distance,  we  have  heard  the  sound 
of  innumerable  footsteps:    are   those  not   herds 


ISO  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

of  cows  and  goats,  full  of  milk,  driven  here  at 
your  command? 

David. 

Hoarsely. 

Oh,  my  God,  my  God !  .  .  . 

Anathema. 

In  a  low  voice,  to  Sarah. 

Go  away,  Sarah :  David  is  pra3dng.  Do  not  dis- 
turb his  prayer. 

Sarah  goes  away  timidly  and  cautiously. 

David. 
Mercy !    Mercy ! 

The  noise  outside  the  windows  subsides.  Suddenly  it  is 
heard  again:  Sarah  had  notified  them  that  they  must 
wait. 

David. 
Mercy !    Mercy ! 

Anathema. 

In  a  commanding  tone. 

David,  be  a  man  in  the  face  of  the  great  fear. 
Did  you  not  call  them  here?  Did  you  not  call 
loudly,  in  a  voice  of  love,  to  the  silence  and  the 


ACT  IV]  ANATHEMA  151 

darkness  where  unspeakable  horror  dwells?  And 
now  they  have  come  to  you  —  North  and  South, 
East  and  West,  and  like  four  oceans  of  tears  they 
have  stretched  themselves  at  your  feet.  Rise, 
David ! 

David. 
What  shall  I  do,  Nullius? 

Anathema. 
Tell  them  the  truth. 

David. 

What  shall  I  do,  Nullius?  Shall  I  perhaps  take 
a  rope  and,  hanging  it  upon  a  tree,  strangle  my- 
self like  the  one  who  had  once  betrayed?  Am 
I,  perhaps,  a  traitor,  having  called  them  and  not 
given  anything  to  them,  and  loving  them  in  order 
to  destroy  them  ?  Oh,  how  my  heart  is  aching !  .  .  . 
Oh,  how  my  heart  is  aching,  Nullius  !  Oh,  I  feel  as 
cold  as  the  ground  that  is  covered  with  ice,  and 
within  it  there  is  heat  and  white  flame.  Oh, 
Nullius,  have  you  seen  the  white  flame  on  which 
the  moon  turns  dark  and  the  sun  bums  like  yellow 
straw  ? 
He  tosses  about. 
Hide  me,  Nullius.    Is  there  not  a  dark  room, 


152  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

where  the  light  does  not  penetrate  ?  are  there 
not  strong  walls  through  which  I  would  not  hear 
these  voices  ?  Whither  are  they  calling  me  ? 
I  am  a  sick  old  man,  I  cannot  endure  and  suffer  so 
long  —  I  myself  had  small  children,  and  did  they 
not  die?  What  were  their  names,  NulHus?  I 
have  forgotten.  Who  is  it  they  caU  David,  the 
man  who  has  brought  joy  to  mankind? 

Anathema. 

That  was  your  name,  David  Leizer.  You  are 
deceived,  Leizer.  You  are  deceived  even  as  I 
am  deceived ! 

David. 

With  entreaty. 

Protect  me,  Nullius.  Go  out  to  them  and  tell 
them  aloud,  so  they  all  can  hear:  "David  Leizer 
is  a  sick  old  man,  and  he  has  nothing  left."  They 
will  listen  to  you,  NuUius,  —  you  have  such  a 
respectful  appearance,  —  and  they  will  return  to 
their   homes. 

Anathema. 

Yes,  yes,  David.  You  see  the  truth  already, 
and  you  will  soon  proclaim  it  to  the  people.    Ha, 


ACT  IV]  ANATHEMA  153 

ha !  Who  said  that  David  Leizer  could  perform 
miracles  ? 

David. 

Folding  his  arms. 
Yes,  yes,  Nullius. 

Anathema. 

Who  dares  demand  miracles  of  Leizer?  Is  he 
not  a  sick  old  man,  —  mortal  like  all  the  rest  ? 

David. 
Yes,  yes,  Nullius,  —  a  man. 

Anathema. 

Did  not  love  deceive  Leizer  ?  It  said  to  him :  "  I 
shall  do  everything,"  —  and  it  raised  only  dust  on 
the  road  like  the  blind  wind  from  behind  a  corner, 
which  bursts  in  noisily  and  lies  down  quietly, 
which  blinds  the  eyes  and  stirs  up  the  dust. 
Let  us  go,  then,  to  Him  who  gave  love  to  David, 
and  ask  Him :  "  Wherefore  did  you  deceive  our 
brother  David?" 

David. 

Yes,  yes,  Nullius !  Of  what  good  is  love  to  man 
if  it  is  powerless  ?  Of  what  good  is  life  if  there 
is  no  immortality? 


154  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

Anathema. 
Rapidly. 

Go  out  and  tell  this  to  them,  —  they  will  Usten 
to  you.  They  will  lift  their  voice  to  Heaven  — 
and  we  shall  hear  the  answer  of  Heaven,  David ! 
Tell  them  the  truth  and  you  will  stir  up  the  earth. 

David. 

I  am  going,  Nullius.  And  I  will  tell  them  the 
truth  —  I  have  never  lied.  Open  the  doors,  Nul- 
lius. 

Anathema  quickly  throws  the  door  open  and  respectfully 
allows  David  to  pass  to  the  balcony.  David  walks 
slowly,  with  an  air  of  importance.  Then  Anathema 
closes  the  door  behind  David.  The  noise  suddenly 
subsides,  a  deathlike  silence  sets  in,  and  David^s 
quivering  voice  is  heard  faintly.  Anathema  dances 
about  the  room  in  a  fit  of  ecstasy. 

Anathema. 

Ah !  you  would  not  listen  to  me,  —  now  listen  to 
them.  Ah !  you  forced  me  to  crawl  on  my 
belly  like  a  dog.  You  would  not  permit  me  to 
glimpse  even  through  a  crevice  !  .  .  .  You  laughed 
at  me  in  your  silence !  .  .  .  You  tortured  me 
by  your  motionlessness.  Listen,  then,  and  answer, 
if  you  can.    It  is  not  the  Devil  who  speaks  to 


ACT  iv]  ANATHEMA  155 

you,  it  is  not  the  son  of  Dawn  who  raises  his  voice, 
—  it  is  man,  it  is  your  favorite  son,  your  care, 
your  love,  your  tenderness,  and  your  proud  hope, 
that  is  wriggling  under  your  foot  like  a  worm. 
Well?  You  are  silent?  Lie  to  him  by  your 
thunder,  deceive  him  with  your  lightning,  —  how 
dares  he  look  into  the  heavens?  Let  him,  like 
Anathema  — 

Wailing. 

The  poor,  offended  Anathema,  who  is  crawling 
on  his  belly  like  a  dog.  .  .  . 

Furiously. 

Let  man  crawl  back  again  to  his  dark  hole,  let 
him  decay  in  sUence,  bury  himself  in  gloom,  where 
unspeakable  horror  dwells. 

A  myriad-voiced  sound  is  heard  from  outside  the  windows. 

Anathema. 
Do  you  hear? 

Sarcastically. 

It  is  not  I.  It  is  they.  Six,  eight,  twenty — 
correct.    It  is  always  correct  with  the  Devil.  .  .  . 

The  door  opens  and  David,  horror-stricken,  runs  in.  A  shout 
is  heard  behind  him.  David  closes  the  door  and  holds 
it  with  his  shoulder. 


J56  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

,0'jiov  aid  aoPA&i  (^liv,  iDAViDv  noa  diiJ  Jon  as.  Ji\i;ov 

Setp,  "Kti^iust  '^tey  wfll'sooii  fcreaS^'iif— iEe 

door  is  tiot  strong;  they  will  break  it;  '^^^'|  ^^^^'^ 
.ffiv//   B  ••rAU   P.:io\    'uo'i  •r^Lrifj  j^fjilr^'nT//   >ii  j£ilJ 

luo^^  y;<^   miA,  oJ   Anathema.  >Y    ^JlaW 

What  do  they  sky ?^^  '''''''  ''''''  f'^^^^^^  A^bnudi 

David.  — BfnadiBn  A 

They  do  not  believe  me,  NuUius.  They  ask  for 
a  miracle.  But  do  the  dead  also  shout? -rnr^  saW 
the  dead  they  have  brought  here,  ni  ^\[ini  ziA  no 

Anathema. 
Furiously.  Ainb  pXA  oj  fiii>g£  Aj&d  IvvjiiD  fiBm  iaJ 

Then  he  'tb^'th6m^J#1  'O^^  ^^onoVi?.  m  xi^r^^h  rairf 

Dam  goes  away  from  the  door  ana  says  mystertousty,  mm 
confusion  and  fear :  \,'\ii  .     ' 

David. 

.AMjIHIAKA 

Do  you  know,  Nullius,  something  is  going  on 
within  me,  —  I  have  nothing,  —  but  here  I  went 
out  to  them,  I  saw  them  and  suddenly  I  felt  that 
it  is'  not  true  — I  do  have  something.  And  I 
spoke,  but  I  did  not  believe  it  myself;  I  spoke, 
and  yet  I  felt  that  I  stood  with  them  and  shouted 
against  myself,  and  demanded  angrily.  ...  With 
my  Ups  I  declare  that  I  have  nothing,  and  with 


ACT  IV]  ANATHEMA  ^ 

my  heart  I  promise  them,  and  with  my  eyes  I 
cry  out,  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  What  shall  I  do,  Nullius? 
Tell  me,  are  you  sure  that  I  have  nothing? 

Anoihema  smiles.  Sarah's  voice  is  heard  behind  the  door 
on  the  right;  a  knock  at  the  door.     .    j  r  ^-r r., 

-■Jffgrn   33irl:t   bnii    cirh   omdi   ybrDiIr^   mid   grii 

jLi<r{  lol  v-iL2?'j09n  ei  ^MTF'iha^     Jg^oid  \m  no 

Let  me- inj'IlfeRdfljnodT     Smid  j£  iool  £  sto  oi 

.hi'j&d  ,110' (  -^nvnoo^h  ion  m&  I  — 

David. 

Do  not  open  the  door,  Nullius. 

isi  edS     .DiYBU.  ^vb^silji  mm  .71;  bsilool  ov^d  I 

.br/^j^Q  ,b9iij  y^sv  jJ ^'m^jP      qf r ri v/j^  mid  blod  om 

\'^:^-^-\\z\\\^  ^b\s>;^  ?,':i  "v  ,  \'\\  ,v\<iJo\i  ttos^ia-^  ivVjod 

It  IS  your  wife,  Sarah.    ,;  ta     ^        i 

He  opens  the  door.  Sarah  enters,  leading  by  the  hand  a 
pale-faced  woman  who  is  carrying  something  in  her 
arms.  I  ^p^^M    1  voisM 

Sarah. 

Meekly.  .aiV/.CI 

Forgive  me,  David.  But  this  woman  says  that 
she  cannot  wait  any  more.  She  says  that  if  you 
delay  any  longer,  she  will  not  recognize  her  child 
when  he  is  revived.  If  it  is  necessary  for  you 
to  know  his  name, 'it  is  Moishe,  little  Moishe. 
He  is  a  dark  little  one,  —  I  looked  at  him.. 7  siii 


iS8  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

Woman. 

Falling  dmvn  on  her  knees. 

Forgive  me,  David,  for  breaking  the  line  and 
not  waiting  for  my  turn.  But  there  are  those 
who  died  but  a  Uttle  while  ago,  while  I  am  carry- 
ing him  already  three  days  and  three  nights 
on  my  breast.  Perhaps  it  is  necessary  for  you 
to  take  a  look  at  him  ?  Then  I  will  uncover  him 
—  I  am  not  deceiving  you,  David. 

Sarah. 

I  have  looked  at  him  already,  David.  She  let 
me  hold  him  awhile.    She  is  very  tired,  David. 

David  retreats  slowly,  the  palms  of  his  hands  outstretched 
forward.    He  moves  thus  until  he  reaches  the  wall. 

David. 
Mercy !    Mercy ! 

Both  women  wait  patiently. 

David. 

What  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  fainting,  O  God !  Nul- 
lius,  tell  them  that  I  do  not  resurrect  the  dead ! 

Woman. 

I  implore  you,  David !  Do  I  ask  you  to  restore 
life  to  an  old  man  who  has  lived  long  and  who 


ACT  IV]  ANATHEMA  159 

has  deserved  death  for  his  evil  deeds?  Do  I 
not  understand  whom  it  is  possible  to  resurrect  and 
whom  it  is  not  possible  to  resurrect?  But  per- 
haps it  is  hard  for  you  because  he  is  dead  so  long. 
I  did  not  know  this,  —  forgive  me.  And  when 
he  was  dying,  I  promised  him :  "  Moishe,  do  not 
be  afraid  to  die  —  David,  who  brings  joy  to  man- 
kind, will  restore  your  little  Hfe  to  you." 

David. 

Show  him  to  me. 

Looks  at  him,  shaking  his  head,  and  weeps,  wiping  his  eyes 
with  his  red  kerchief.  Sarah  looks  at  him  confidently, 
leaning  on  his  shoulder. 

Saeah. 
How  old  was  he  ? 

Woman. 
Two  years,  going  on  the  third. 

Damd  turns  his  tear-stained  face  to  Anathema  and  says  in  a 
strange  voice: 

David. 
Shall  I  make  an  attempt,  perhaps,  Nullius? 
Suddenly  he  bends  down  and  cries  hoarsely: 

Adenoi !  .  .  .  Adenoi !  .  .  .  Begone  !  Begone  ! 
The  Devil  has  sent  you  here.    Tell  them,  NulUus, 


i6o  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

that  I  tio  not  resurrect  the  dead.  They  have 
come  to  mock  me !  Look,  they  are  both  laughs 
ing  there.    Begone!    Begone Iq  J"ii  r.  .:  .     i. // 

.•;i'-<'.\  o^.  [>/;'■){)  ^i  -jd  3ftfjK')3d  uov  io\  biBci  21  fi  eqfid 

In  a  low  voice,  to  Sarah.' al  bjaimoiq  I  ,§nry;b  2£V/  od 

Go  away,  Sarah,  aiid  lead  the" #diriah'liwa^i 
David  is  not  quite  ready  yet.  ^'-'^ 

Sarah. 

In  a  whisper.  --nr  oj  mid  \vod'd 

I  will  take  her  to  my  room.    Later  you  may  tell 


David  that  she  is  there.''    ^^"'^^'^^^  ^^^"  '^^  ^"'^ 


To  the  woman. 

Come,  woman,  —  David  is  not  quite  ready  yet. 

They  go  out.    David,  exhausted,  sits  down  in  an  arm-cnatr 

and  lowers  his  grey  head.  .  He  reads  something  softly. 
././.MO/. 

J, Anathema,    naio-g  ,aiJS3x  owT 

They  have  gone,  David.  Do  you  hear? -They 
have  gone  away.  =  ' 

Davh). 

NullmS^'  Hid  ybu  see?  It  wa^' a  deSd' cmfd.' 
Moishe.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  Moishe,  a  dark  little  one ; 
we  looked  at  him.  .  .  .  {Loudly,  in  despair.)  >  What 
shall  I  do?    Teach  me,  Nullius;i9a  ejsri  iiv^Q  6dT 


ACT  iyJ  anathema  i6i 

Anathema.. 


\^n  ; 


Listens  to  what  is  going  on  outside  the  window,  nods  his  head 
affirmatively,  and  advances  to  David  cautiously,  like 
a  conspirator ;  David  waits  for  him,  with  his  arms 
folded  as  in  prayer,  a  confident  smile  on  his  lips. 
His  back  is  bent,  and  he  frequently  takes  his  red  kerchief 

hnk  /r*^  ^^^  pocketikii^  dfn^,  wtttjk^m^  ^h^.to^^  f^;^: 
;.  .■;'';f~''      ''  ■^■,':)i\n  boh  i)V£ii  ihz fl<i  1 

Anathema.  ,,.,^,,,^^^ 

In  a  whtsper. 

We  must  flee,  Davidj/fleel'^A 

llhv  uoY    !  isgnol  \sli)Avnx  ;>d  :ton  Ilhv  uoy  bnA 

Joyousl^^^^^  fl9V£aH  o:r  iijgqa  modi  ioJ  !  bsh  ^tvmi 
Yes,  yes,  NuUius, — we  must  flee.        -^  ^oo\ '<;.3\V\ 

Anathema. 

I  shall  hide  you  in  a  dark  room:  wliicn '  na  one 
knows  of ;  when  they  fall  asleep,  tired  of  waiting 
and  hungry,  I  shall  lead  you  through  the  sleeping 
people  —  and  will  save  you.  *^"'  '''^'-  -"^' 

Davh). 

Joyously.  nsmbBm  doua  fii&  xodT  .Aool  ,e9v  ,soY 
Yes,  yes,  save  miiuVL  ^thzxm  aisqaiq  U&da  I  slidw 


i62  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

Anathema. 

And  they  will  be  waiting !  In  their  sleep  they 
will  wait  and  dream  dreams  of  great  expectations 
—  and  you  will  not  be  here  any  longer ! 

David. 

Nodding  his  head  joyously. 

And  I  shall  not  be  here  any  longer,  Nullius  !  And 
I  shall  have  fled  already,  Nullius ! 

Laughs. 

Anathema. 

Laughing. 

And  you  will  not  be  here  any  longer !    You  will 
have  fled  !    Let  them  speak  to  Heaven  then. 
They  look  at  each  other  and  laugh. 

Anathema. 

In  a  friendly  tone. 

Wait  for  me,  David.  I  shall  go  out  at  once  and 
see  whether  the  house  is  still  surrounded.  They 
are  such  madmen! 

David. 

Yes,  yes,  look.  They  are  such  madmen  !  Mean- 
while I  shall  prepare  myself,  Nullius.  .  .  .    But  I 


ACT  IV]  ANATHEMA  163 

ask  you,  do  not  leave  me  here  all  alone  for  a 
long  time. 

Anathema  goes  out.  David  goes  cautiously  on  tiptoe  to  the 
window  and  wants  to  look  out,  but  he  dares  not;  he 
goes  to  the  table  and  is  frightened  by  the  scattered 
sheets  of  paper  ;  he  moves  cautiously  to  the  corner  where 
his  clothes  are.  He  dresses  hastily,  mixing  up  his 
clothes.  For  a  long  time  he  does  not  know  what  to  do 
with  his  beard;  suddenly  he  pushes  it  under  his  coat 
and  hides  it  with  his  collar. 


David. 

Muttering. 

Yes,  yes.  I  must  hide  my  beard.  All  the  children 
know  my  beard.  .  .  .  But  why  did  they  not  tear 
it  out?  Yes,  yes,  my  beard.  .  .  .  But  what  a  black 
coat !  It  does  not  matter,  you  will  hide  it.  That's 
the  way.  Rosa  had  a  mirror.  .  .  .  But  Rosa  ran 
away,  and  Naum  also  died,  and  Sarah  —  oh, 
but  why  does  not  NulHus  come?  Does  he  not 
hear  how  they  are  shouting?  .  .  . 

A  knock  on  the  door. 

David. 

Frightened. 

Who  is  there?    David  Leizer  is  not  here. 


i64  ANATHEMA  [activ 

i;  lo'l  onolfi  He  g-jANATHEMA.         ,i  ob  ,uov  iss 
It  is  I,  David;  let  me  in.  -^^^^  Snol 

Anathema  enterSi\a\i:::,\\M^-^  t'.>o^  iiVjbO.    Avto  i?io^  ft«v5s\\o«k 

■.^..  'jsl  \k4  ,U5(i  ■'yw\  ^^^  v.V.  v,i-'r  \\'.\\\  '^Tu'iHsVi: 

Well,  Nullius,,-^ifc^\is'jimpos^ble^tio  r^bgnize  me 
now,  is  it  not?'"'-^  ^^^^^^  ^^^  ^^'"''^^  "^^^^  ^  ■''*'^-    •;"';'■ 

Anathema. 

Very  good,  David.  But  I  don't  know  how  we 
can  get  out.  Sarah  has  filled  the  house  with 
guests :  in  every  room  the  blind  and  the  maimed 
are  Waiting  for  you  with  a  pleasant  smile;  ther^ 
are  also  dead  people  there,  David.  Your  Sarah 
is  a  splendid  woman,  but  she  is  too  much  of  ai 
hostess,  David,  and  she  intends  to  build  upust) 
fine  household  on  miracles,  n  bml  sro^I  .'(-gw  orli 
,rio-  Ir   musM    bn.B  ^v£yi& 

r.  David.' ^  ^oa  aoob  xdw  iud 

But  she  must  not  do  it,  Nullms. 

Anathema. 

Many  people  are  already  sleeping  at  your  doors, 
smiling  in  their  dreams,  —  self-confident,  lucky 
people,    who  hJaavie    managed    to    outstrip    the 


ACT  ivl  ANATHEMA  165 

others.  .  .  .     And    in   the   garden   and  in    the 


r  hihf  ni;-i.:;i  .i^.iiru  ulltloo  tj^iviO  '{0:ii 
f-'T.  .-^'jiLLnod  iiiija  ©ATODdJ  buiDbio  jjoy  :fijilJ 
WUh  fe(^f^'ff  79V9ij5rf7r  rrfirnud  vldmiid  aijs  ^^riJ 
What  is  there  in  the  yard  ?  ii>di,  bnA    .  .  .  .briii 

Anathema. 
Not  so  loud,  David.    Look  and  listen. 

i^e  ^/5  om/  the  light  in  the  room  and  draws  aside  the  dra- 
peries; the  windows  are  lit  up  with  a  red  light;  it  is 
dark  in  the  room,  but  David's  head,  and  the  paper  on 
the  floor,  are  tinted  a  pale  crimson  hue. 

TSqqU    OlU     mO'Li      ;   .'^         :,"  ■     'T        srcrJ     -tnf     oh     T 

■gmr\1emo?.  fns^d  1       David. 
FHghtened,  in  a  whisper. 

Where   does   this   fire   come   from,   Nullius?    I 

■aiQi'afraidi'"-"-"   '"  ^^  ""^•'    '"j  h^^^jv^mj  r.,,.  r-.^wv  „., 
7'"X  'jfH  ot  !;frbuorl3  ^'7^  vorft—  ,b\vv(l  ,b7/:or{  T  Icrf! 
f'<  I    ...  .uov  -^n  Anathema. 
Also  in  a  whisper. 

'Tis  a  cold  night,  and  they  have  started  bonfires. 
Sarah  told  them  that  they  would  have  to  wait  a 
long  time  yet,  so  they  have  taken  precautions. 

ob  :r£fIW    S  sniijjs       Davh).     ^^nan  ^m  Tsarf  I 
Where  did  they  get  the  wood?       "  nih 


i66  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

Anathema. 

They  broke  certain  things.  Sarah  told  them 
that  you  ordered  them  to  start  bonfires,  and 
they  are  humbly  burning  whatever  wood  they 
find.  .  .  .    And  there,  David,  farther  away  .  .  . 

David. 

In  despair. 

What  is  it,  Nxillius?  What  else  can  there  be, 
there  yonder?  .  .  . 

Anathema. 

I  do  not  know,  David.  But  from  the  upper 
window,  which  was  wide  open,  I  heard  something 
like  the  roaring  of  the  ocean  when  the  rocks 
tremble  with  pain  from  the  beating  of  the  breakers ; 
it  was  as  though  the  roaring  of  brass  trumpets 
that  I  heard,  David,  —  they  are  shouting  to  the  sky 
and  to  you,  and  they  are  calling  you.  .  .  .  Do 
you  hear? 

In  the  muffled  noise  and  chaos  of  sounds,  ring  otU  the  sounds: 
Da-vidl    Da-vid!    Da-vidI 

Davh). 

I  hear  my  name.  Who  is  calling?  What  do 
they  want? 


ACT  IV]  ANATHEMA  167 

Anathema. 

I  don't  know.    Perhaps  they  want  to  crown  you 
as  their  king. 


Me? 


David. 


Anathema. 


You,  David  Leizer.  Perhaps  they  are  bringing 
you  might  and  power  —  and  the  power  of  per- 
forming miracles  —  do  you  not  want  perhaps  to 
become  a  God,  David?    Look  and  listen. 

He  throws  the  windows  wide  open.  The  sounds  of  the 
voices  calling  "Da-vid,  Da-vid,  Da-vid/"  grow  louder 
and  are  mingled  with  the  blowing  of  trumpets. 

David  at  first  moves  to  the  wall,  then  he  slowly  advances  to 
the  window.  He  straightens  himself,  looks  out  of  the 
window,  and  pushing  Anathema  aside,  outstretches 
his  arms  to  the  poor  of  the  earth. 

David. 

Calling. 

Come  this  way !  Come  here !  To  me !  I  am 
here!    I  am  with  you ! 

Anathema. 

Astonished. 

What?  You  are  caUing  them?  You  —  are  — 
calling  —  them  ?    Bethink  yourself,   Leizer  ! 


i68  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

David*' A 

Be  silent!  you  do  not  understand  me!  We  ^^ 
all  human  beings  and  we  shall  go  together. 

Enthusiastically.  '  <-    i  - 

And  we  shall  go  together  !  Come  here,  brethren, 
come  I  Look,  Nullius,  —  they  have  Uf  ted  their 
heads,  they  are  looking,  they  hear  me.  This 
way!  This  way  1  -  -  --i  -  .w^,....  >.  < 
oj  ^.q^dTji]  Inr;//  Ion  ijov  ob  —  gsbjsiim  gnimiol 
.fl9:fail  biiR  ;^  tlta'^^  *^*^^  ^  scftooad 

Will 'you  piErfoEffliiiiiraxiesJfta"  '^mA\o^7^Vw(j 

Be  silent  —  you  are  a  stranger.  You  speak  as  an 
enemy  of  God  and  mankind.  You  know  neither 
pity  nor  compassion.  We  are  tired,  we  are  ex- 
hausted, —  even  the  dead  have  grown  tired  of 
waiting.  Come  here  —  and  we  shall  go  together. 
This  way ! 

Anathema.  .b^s^^v«o\^^. 

Looking  at  David.  ;,    ,,,,::, ,,.     ,,,,^7     c->,.rrj/ 

Are  not  the  blind  showing  the  way  to  them?  S3 


*ci  iv]  ANATHEMA  ,        169 

Who  needs  eyesight  if  not  the  blind  ?  This  way, 
blind! 

Anathema. 

Are  not  the  lame  making  the  road  and  swallow- 
ing the  dust  thereF^  ^  ^^^^^^"^  "^^^^^  ^^"^  ^'^-^^ 
-iu'/xioj   oiij    m   TJiiiomi   orio   iijovsb  Oiiv/   aisiaig 

Who  needs  the  road  if  not  the  lame?  This  way, 
maimed ! 

Anathema. 

Are  they  not  carrying  the  dead  on  the  stretchers, 
swaying  with  measured  steps?  Look,  David, 
and  dare  to  say :  "  Come  this  way,  to  me.  I  am 
he  who  resurrects  the  dead  !  "moD  no  <  -su:  Jiii  r/ 

David. 

Tormented.  a.     .  i  j  .z  A 

You  know  no  love,  NuJlius. 

-^flillfiD  2£  biVjsG 

Anathema. 
I  am  he  who  restores  sight  to  the  blind"  — 

Loudly,  through  the  window.  \m^  -^m^w^ 

This  way  !  Nations  of  the  earth,  seeking  God,  -^ 
come  together,  at  the  feet  of  David  —  he  is  here! 


lyo 

ANATHEMA 

David. 

Not  so  loud. 

Anatfema. 

[act  IV 


Eh,  this  way!  Suffering  mothers, — fathers  who 
have  lost  their  reason  in  grief, — brothers  and 
sisters  who  devour  one  another  in  the  convul- 
sions of  hunger  —  come  this  way,  to  David,  who 
has  brought  joy  to  mankind ! 

David. 

Seizing  him  by  the  shoulder. 

You  have  lost  your  mind,  NuUius.  They  may 
hear  you  and  may  break  into  the  house.  .  .  . 
What  are  you  doing,  Nullius  ?    Be  more  cautious. 

Anathema. 

Shouting. 

David  is  calling  you ! 

David. 

Dragging  him  away  from  the  window  forcibly. 

Be  silent !  I'll  choke  you  if  you  utter  another 
word.    You  dog ! 


ACT  IV]  ANATHEMA  171 

Anathema. 

Releasing  himself. 

You  are  as  foolish  as  a  human  being.  When  I  call 
you  to  flee  from  here,  you  curse  me.  When  I 
call  you  to  love  —  you  want  to  choke  me. 

With  contempt. 
Man! 

David. 

Enfeebled. 

Oh,  do  not  ruin  me,  Nullius.  Oh,  forgive  me  if 
I  have  angered  you,  foolish  old  man  that  I  am, 
with  a  memory  that  fails  me.  But  I  carmot  — 
I  cannot  perform  any  miracles ! 

Anathema. 
Let  us  flee  from  here. 

DAvm. 

Yes,  yes,  let  us  flee. 

Irresolutely. 

But  where?  Where  do  you  want  to  lead  me, 
Nullius?  Is  there  a  place  on  earth  where  God 
is  not  present? 

Anathema. 
I  shall  lead  you  to  God. 


172  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

David. 

No,  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Him.  What  will  God 
tell  me  ?  And  what  shall  I  answer  Him  ?  Be  con- 
siderate, Nullius.  Can  I  say  anything  in  answer 
to  God  now  ? 

Anathema. 

I  shall  lead  you  to  the  desert.  We  shall  leave  here 
these  wicked  and  vicious  people,  who  are  seized 
with  the  itch  of  suffering  and  who  break  down 
posts  and  fences  like  hogs  that  scratch  themselves. 

David. 

Irresolutely. 

But  they  are  human  beings,  NulHus. 

Anathema. 

Renoimce  them,  and,  pure,  stand  up  in  the  desert 
before  the  face  of  God.  Let  the  rock  be  your 
bed,  let  the  howling  jackal  become  your  friend, 
let  only  the  sky  and  the  sand  hear  the  penitent 
moans  of  David  —  not  a  single  stain  of  another's 
sin  shall  come  upon  the  pure  snow  of  his  soul. 
He  who  remains  with  lepers  becomes  a  leper  him- 
self —  only  in  solitude  will  you  see  God.  To  the 
desert,  David,  to  the  desert ! 


ACT  IV]  ANATHEMA  173 

David. 
I  shall  pray. 

Anathema. 
You  will  pray. 

David. 
I  shall  exhaust  my  body  with  fasting. 

Anathema. 
You  will  exhaust  your  body  with  fasting. 

David. 
I  shall  cover  my  head  with  ashes. 

Anathema. 

What  for?  Unfortimate  people  do  that.  But 
you  will  be  [happy,  David,  in  your  sinlessness. 
To  the  desert,  David,  to  the  desert  I 

David. 
To  the  desert,  Nullius,  to  the  desert! 

Anathema. 
Quickly. 

Let  us  run.  There  is  a  cellar  here  of  which  no 
one  knows.    There   are   old   barrels   there,   and 


174  ANATHEMA  [act  iv 

there  is  the  smell  of  wine.    I  shall  hide  you.    And 
when  they  fall  asleep  — 


David. 
To  the  desert !    To  the  desert ! 

They  rush  out  quickly.    Disorder  and  silence  in  the  room. 

Through  the  open  window  soon  comes  in  the  noise  of 

voices  and  of  brass  trumpets,  moans  and  sobs  of  the 

mob,  —  "  Da-a-a-vid  !  " 
And  with  its  pages  bent  under  it,  like  a  house  that  is  falling 

apart,  lies  the  Bible,  with  its  back  upward. 

Slow  Curtain. 


ACT  FIVE. 

On  the  right,  upon  the  slope  of  a  mountain,  a  dilapidated  stone 
fence.  On  the  left,  the  sea  is  seen.  Beyond  the  fence, 
a  deserted  garden;  among  the  trees  two  tall  cypress 
trees  stand  out  prominently.  The  sea  is  dark.  It 
is  before  a  storm.  The  sky  is  overcast  with  heavy 
clouds,  which  are  driven  rapidly  by  the  wind. 

As  the  curtain  goes  up  no  one  is  on  the  stage;  then  Anathema 
climbs  over  the  fence  and  assists  David  over  the  fence. 
David  is  very  weak  and  moves  with  difficulty.  Their 
dark  clothes  are  covered  with  mud  and  torn  in  places. 
Both  have  lost  their  hats  on  the  way. 

Anathema. 

Quicker,  quicker,  David  !  They  are  pursuing  us. 
In  this  dark  garden,  where  it  is  so  quiet,  I  heard 
a  roaring  in  the  distance,  on  that  side, — as  though 
there  were  another  sea  there.     Quicker,  David  ! 

David. 

I  can't,  Nullius.  Put  me  down  here  that  I  may- 
die. 

175 


176  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

Anathema. 
Put  your  foot  here,  on  this  rock.    Take  care. 

David. 

Before  my  eyes  are  paths  which  turn  and  turn 
and  lead  to  the  wall.  Then  there  are  more  walls, 
Nullius,  and  this  dark  ditch  where  a  bloated  dead 
horse  is  lying.    Where  are  we,  Nullius  ? 

Anathema. 

We  are  at  the  sea.  We  shall  take  a  boat  from  the 
fishermen  and  trust  ourselves  to  the  waves  — 
You  will  sooner  find  mercy  with  the  senseless 
waves,  David,  than  with  the  maddened  people. 

David. 

Yes,  it  is  better  to  die. 

He  lies  down  by  the  fence. 

I  am  fifty-eight  years  old,  Nullius,  and  I  must 
have  a  rest.  .  .  .  But  who  was  the  man  that  met 
us  on  the  highway  and  was  so  greatly  overjoyed, 
and  ran  off  shouting :  "  Here  is  David,  who  has 
brought  joy  to  mankind  "  ?  How  does  he  know 
me?    I  had  never  seen  him  before. 


ACT  vl  ANATHEMA  177 

Anathema. 

As  if  surveying  ike  shore. 

Your  fame  is  great,  David.  .  .  .    Strange,  I  do 
not  find  any  path  leading  downward. 

David. 

Shutting  his  eyes. 

The  cypress  trees  have  turned  dark  —  there  will 
be  a  storm  to-night,  Nullius.  We  should  have 
remained  at  the  stone  pit :  it  was  dark  and  quiet 
there,  and  I  slept  like  a  man  with  clear  con- 
science. 
Grumbling. 

But  why  are  you  silent,  Nullius?    Or  am  I  to 
speak  all  alone,  as  if  I  were  already  in  the  desert  ? 


Nullius. 


I  am  searching. 


David. 

With  dissatisfaction. 

What  else  is  there  to  search  for?  We  have 
searched  enough  to-day,  and  we  jxunped  like 
trained  dogs.  I  felt  ashamed,  Nullius,  when  I 
climbed  the  fences  like  a  Httle  boy  stealing  apples. 


178  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

You  had  better  come  over  here  and  tell  me  some- 
thing about  your  wanderings.  I  am  too  tired  to 
sleep. 

Anathema. 

You'll  not  be  able  to  sleep,  David. 

Advancing. 

There  is  no  way  down  to  the  sea. 

David. 
What  of  it?    Look  for  it  elsewhere. 

Anathema. 

Outstretching  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  city. 

Look,  David;  what  is  that  white  line  there  in  the 
distance  ? 

David. 

Lifting  his  head. 
I  don't  see  it. 

Anathema. 

It  is  the  city  which  is  awaiting  you.  Now  listen. 
What  is  that  noise  in  the  distance  ? 

David. 

Listening. 

That  —  of  course,  NuUius,  that  is  the  echo  of  the 
waves  of  the  sea. 


ACT  v]     .  ANATHEMA  179 

Anathema. 

No.  It  is  the  voice  of  the  people,  who  will  come 
here  soon  and  will  demand  miracles  from  you, 
and  will  offer  you  the  kingdom  of  the  poor  on 
earth.  When  we  were  hiding  in  the  rocks,  I  heard 
two  men  speak  as  they  hastened  to  the  city :  they 
said  that  you  had  been  carried  away  by  some 
evil  one  and  that  it  was  necessary  to  rescue  you 
from  that  evil  one  and  offer  you  the  kingdom. 

David. 

Am  I  not  a  sick  old  Jew  ?  Am  I  a  piece  of  gold 
that  I  should  be  stolen  ?  Leave  me  alone,  NuUius; 
you  are  raving  like  the  other  people.  ...  I 
am  sleepy. 

Anathema. 
Impatiently. 

But  they  are  coming  this  way. 

Davto. 

Let  them  come.  You  will  tell  them  that  David 
is  sleeping  and  that  he  does  not  want  to  perform 
miracles. 

He  prepares  himself  for  sleep. 


i8o  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

Anathema. 
Bethink  yourself,  David. 

David. 

Sttibbornly. 

He  does  not  want  to  perform  any  miracles.  Good 
night,  Nullius.  I  am  old  and  I  do  not  like  to 
talk   nonsense. 

Anathema. 
David! 

David  does  not  answer;  he  falls  asleep,  his  hands  folded  under 
his  head. 

Anathema. 
Awaken,  David!  the  people  have  come  here. 
Pushes  him  angrily. 

Get  up,  I  say.    You  make  beHeve  that  you  are 

asleep  —  I  don't  beHeve  you.    Do  you  hear  ? 

Through  his  teeth. 

You've  fallen  asleep  —  damned  flesh  ! 

Steps  aside  and  listens. 

Anathema. 

Ha, ha!  They  are  coming They  are  coming. . . . 

And  their  king  is  sleeping  !  They  are  coming  — 
and  their  miracle-worker  is  sleeping  the  sleep  of 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  i8i 

the  horse  which  draws  water.  They  are  carry- 
ing a  crown  and  death  —  and  their  victim  and 
master  is  catching  the  wind  with  an  open  mouth, 
smacking  his  Ups  for  pleasure.  O  miserable  race  ! 
There  is  treachery  in  your  bones,  betrayal  in  your 
blood,  and  falsehood  in  your  heart !  It  is  better 
to  rely  upon  flowing  waters,  to  walk  upon  the 
waves  as  upon  a  bridge ;  it  is  better  to  lean  upon 
the  air  as  upon  a  rock,  than  to  trust  one's  haughty 
anger  and  bitter  dreams  to  a  traitor. 

Goes  over  to  David  and  pushes  him  rudely. 

Get  up !  Get  up,  David,  —  Sarah  is  here,  Sarah, 
Sarah ! 

David. 

Awakening. 

Are  you  here,  Sarah  ?  I'll  be  up  soon;  I  am  very 
tired,  Sarah.  .  .  .  What  is  this?  You,  NuUius? 
Where  is  Sarah?  Didn't  she  call  me  just  now? 
How  tired  I  am!  how  tired  I  am,  Nullius ! 

Anathema. 
Sarah  is  coming.    Sarah  is  carrying  an  infant. 

David. 

What  infant?  We  have  no  small  children.  Our 
children  — 


i82  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

Half  rises,  looks  around,  frightened. 

What  is  that,  NuUius?    Who  is  crying  there? 

Anathema. 

Sarah  is  carrying  a  dead  child.  You  must  resur- 
rect the  dead  child,  David.  He  is  dark,  and 
his  name  is  Moishe  —  Moishe  —  Moishe! 

David. 

Rising. 

We  must  flee,  Nullius.  We  must  flee.  But 
where  is  the  road?    Where  have  you  led  me  to? 

Seizes  Anathema  by  the  arm. 

Listen  how  they  are  shouting.  They  are  coming 
this  way,  to  me  —  oh,  save  me,  NuUius ! 

Anathema. 
There  is  no  way. 

Holding  David. 

There  is  an  abyss. 

Davh). 

What  shall  I  do,  Nullius?  Shall  I,  m/tyhap, 
hurl  myself  down  and  dash  my  head  agair^st  the 
rocks?    But  am  I  a  wicked  wretch  that  I  should 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  183 

come  to  God  without  His  calling  me  ?  Oh,  if  God 
only  called  me  —  faster  than  an  arrow  would  my 
old  soul  rush  to  Him.  .  .  . 

Listens. 

They  are  shouting.  They  are  calling  .  .  . 
calling —     Step  aside,  NulUus;  I  want  to  pray. 

Anathema. 
Steps  aside. 

But  make  haste,  David;  they  are  near. 

David. 

Do  you  hear  ?  They  are  coming.  I  love  them, 
but  my  love  is  bitterer  than  hatred,  and  it  is  as 
powerless  as  indifference.  Kill  me,  and  meet 
them  yourself.  Kill  me  —  and  meet  them  with 
mercy,  with  love.  Fertilize  the  hungry  earth 
with  my  body  and  grow  bread  upon  it,  drown 
sorrow  with  my  soul  and  grow  laughter  upon  it. 
And  joy,  0  Lord,  joy  for  mankind.  .  .  . 

The  approach  of  an  enormous  mob  is  heard. 

Anathema. 
Advancing. 

Quicker,  David,  quicker,  —  they  are  approaching. 


i84  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

David. 

One  moment,  one  moment. 

In  despair. 

Joy  .  .  .  What  else  ?  Only  one  word  —  only  one 
word  —  but  I  have  forgotten  it. 

Weeping. 

Oh,  what  a  great  number  of  words  there  are, 
but  one  is  missing.  .  .  .  But,  perhaps,  you  need 
no  words  at  all? 

Anathema. 

Only  one  word  is  missing?  How  strange!  It 
seems  that  they  have  found  their  word  —  do  you 
hear  them  waiKng  ?  "  Da-a-vid !  Da-a-vid  !  " 
Rise,  David,  and  meet  them  proudly;  it  seems 
they  are  beginning  to  mock  you. 

David  rises.  Some  one  rushes  in  ahead  of  the  mob,  shouting 
joyously:  "David!"  and  runs  back.  The  sea  looks 
in  one  place  as  though  stained  with  blood. 

David. 

Retreating  a  step. 

I  am  afraid,  Nullius.  This  is  the  same  one  we 
met  on  the  road,  with  a  red  little  beard.  .  .  . 
I  fear  him,  Nullius. 


ACT  vj  ANATHEMA  185 

Anathema. 

Meet  them  proudly.  Strike  them  with  the  truth, 
David,  —  with  the  truth ! 

David. 

But  do  not  leave  me  alone,  NuUius,  or  I  shall  for- 
get again  where  the  truth  is. 

People  appear  on  the  fence.  They  are  exhausted,  mud- 
covered,  like  David.  They  seem  to  be  blind  yet 
their  faces  are  radiant  with  joy,  and  they  keep  ex- 
claiming: "Da-vidf  Da-vidI" 

David. 

Outstretching  his  arms. 

Back  — 

They  do  not  listen  to  him  and  keep  climbing  the  fence,  wailing. 

Anathema. 

Audaciously. 

Where  are  you  going  ?    Back — back,  you  were  told. 

The  people  in  the  front  rank  pause  in  fear. 

Voices. 

Stop  !  Stop  !  Who's  that?  That's  David.  No, 
that's  the  robber.  The  one  who  has  carried  him 
o£E.     The  robber. 


i86  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

A  Restless  Man. 

Silence!  Silence!  David  wishes  to  speak.  Listen 
to  David. 

They  become  silent;  hut  in  the  distance  people  are  still  shout- 
ing:  ''Da-vidl" 

David. 

What  is  it  you  want  ?  Yes,  it  is  I,  David  Leizer, 
a  Jew  from  the  same  city  that  you  come  from. 
Why  do  you  pursue  me  like  a  thief  and  frighten  me 
like  a  robber  with  your  shouting  ? 

Anathema. 

Audaciously. 

What  do  you  want?  Go  away  from  here.  My 
friend  David  Leizer  does  not  want  to  see  you. 

David. 

Yes.  Let  me  die  here,  for  death  is  already  ap- 
proaching my  heart ;  go  home  to  your  wives  and 
your  children.  I  cannot  ease  your  sufferings  in 
any  way,  —  go.    Do  I  speak  properly,  Nullius  ? 

Anathema. 
Yes,  David. 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  187 

The  Restless  Man. 

Our  wives  are  here  and  our  children  are  here. 
Here  they  stand,  waiting  for  your  word  of  kindness, 
David,  — '  you  who  have  brought  joy  to  mankind  ! 
I  have  no  strength  left  in  me  and  I  have  nothing 
to  say.    Go. 

Woman. 

Move  forward  a  little,  Rubin,  and  bow  to  our  master 
David.  You  probably  remember  him,  David? 
Bow  to  him  once  more,  Rubin. 

The  boy  hows  timidly  and  hides  in  the  crowd  again.    Laughter. 

Old  Man. 
Smiling. 

He  is  afraid  of  you,  David.     Don't  be  afraid,  boy. 

Muffled  laughter.     The  Wanderer  comes  forward. 

Wanderer. 

You  have  called  us,  David,  and  we  have  come. 
We  have  long  waited  silently  for  your  merciful 
call,  and  now  your  call  has  reached  the  remotest 
boundaries  of  the  earth.  The  roads  have  become 
black  with  people;  the  deserted  roads  have  come 
to  life  and  the  narrow  paths  are  filled  with  footsteps, 
and  they  will  soon  become  highways  —  and  even 


i88  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

as  the  blood  that  is  in  the  body  all  rushes  to  the 
heart,  so  all  the  poor  on  earth  will  come  to  you 
alone.  Welcome  to  you,  our  master  David  —  the 
people  are  bowing  before  you  with  their  life  and 
the  earth. 

David. 

Tormented. 

What  do  you  want  ? 

Wanderer. 
Softly. 

Righteousness. 

David. 
What  do  you  want  ? 

All. 

Righteousness. 

Expectation. 

David. 
With  sudden  hope. 

Tell  me,  Nullius,  tell  me:  Is  righteousness  a 
miracle  ? 

Anathema. 

Bitterly. 

There  are  the  blind  —  they  are  innocent.    There 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  189 

are  the  dead  —  and  they  are  also  innocent.  The 
earth  is  bowing  before  you  with  its  graves,  and 
it  greets  you  with  darkness.    Perform  a  miracle. 

David. 
A  miracle  ?    Again  a  miracle  ? 

Wanderer. 

Suspiciously  and  sternly. 

And  the  people  do  not  want  you  to  speak  with  him 
whose  name  we  dare  not  utter.  He  is  an -enemy 
of  mankind,  and  at  night,  when  you  were  asleep, 
he  carried  you  off  to  this  mountain  —  but  it  did  not 
occur  to  him  to  carry  off  the  heart  of  the  people ; 
and,  beating  unceasingly,  this  heart  has  brought  us 
to  you. 

Anathema. 

Audaciously. 

It  seems  that  I  am  superfluous  here. 

David. 

No,  no.    Do  not  forsake  me,  Nullius. 

Tormented. 

Begone,  begone  from  here !  You  are  tempting  God 
—  I  do  not  know  you.     Begone.  .  .  .    Begone ! 


I90  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

Anathema. 
Begone ! 

Voices. 

Frightened. 

David  is  angry.    What  shall  we  do  ?    The  master 
is  angry.     David  is  angry. 

Old  Man. 
Call  Sarah. 

Woman. 
Call  Sarah.     Sarah ! 

Voices. 
Sarah !    Sarah !    Sarah  !  .  .  . 

David. 

Horror-stricken. 

Do  you  hear  ?    They  are  calling. 

Joyous  Voice. 
Sarah  is  coming. 
The  mob  grows  bolder. 

Khessin. 

Bowing  several  times. 

It  is  I,   David,  —  I.    Peace  be  with  you,   our 
master  David. 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  191 

SONKA. 
Smiling  and  bowing. 

Peace  be  with  you.    Peace  be  with  you,  David. 

David  turns  aside  and  covers  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Anathema. 

Indifferetttly. 

Begone! 

General  confusion;  interrupted  smiles,  muffled  groans. 
Sarah,  led  respectfully  by  the  arms,  advances  to 
David.    Nearing  him,  she  walks  alone. 

Anathema. 
Turn  around,  David.  .  .  .    Sarah  is  here. 

Sarah. 

Peace  be  with  you,  David.  Forgive  me  for 
disturbing  you,  but  the  people  have  asked  me  to 
speak  with  you  and  to  find  out  when  you  intend 
to  return  home  to  your  palace.  And  they  have 
also  asked  you  to  make  haste,  David,  for  many 
have  died  already  of  unbearable  sufferings  —  and 
the  dead  have  already  grown  tired  of  waiting. 
And  many  have  already  lost  their  reason  from  their 
unbearable  sufferings,  and  they  will  soon  commence 
to  murder;  if  you  will  not  make  haste,  David, 
all  the  people  will  become  enemies  —  and  it  will  be 


192  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

hard  for  you  to  establish  a  kingdom  upon  the  dead 

earth. 

Bitier  waUings  in  the  distance :  "  Da-vidl  Da-vidI  Da-vid  I " 


David. 


With  restraint. 
Go  away,  Sarah. 


Sakah. 

Humbly. 

Your  clothes  are  torn,  David,  and  I  fear  that  there 
are  wounds  upon  your  body.  What  ails  you? 
Why  do  you  not  rejoice  with  us  ? 

David. 

Weeping. 

Oh,  Sarah,  Sarah!  What  are  you  doing  with 
me  ?  Consider,  Sarah,  —  consider  you  all.  Have 
I  not  given  everything  away  to  you?  I  have 
nothing  left.  Have  pity  on  me  even  as  I  had  pity 
on  you,  —  and  kill  my  unnecessary  body  with 
stones.  I  love  you  —  and  words  of  anger  are 
powerless  upon  my  lips,  and  wrath  upon  loving 
lips  does  not  frighten  you  —  have  pity  on  me. 
I  have  nothing  more.  I  have  a  Httle  blood  in  my 
veins,  but  would  I  not  give  away  the  last  drop  of 
it,  if  I  could  only  quench  your  bitter  thirst? 
Like  a  sponge  I  would  have  squeezed  my  heart 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  '     193 

between  the  palms  of  my  hands  —  and  the  cunning 
heart,  so  greedy  for  Hfe,  would  not  dare  hide  a 
single  drop.  .  .  . 

He   tears    his    clothes    and    scratches  his   chest   with  his 
nails. 

Here  my  blood  is  flowing  —  my  blood  is  flowing — 
has  a  single  one  of  you  smiled  a  smile  of  joy? 
Here  I  am  tearing  the  hair  of  my  beard  and  I  fling 
the  grey  locks  —  I  fling  them  at  your  feet  —  has 
a  single  dead  person  risen?  Here  I  spit  into 
your  eyes  —  will  one  blind  man  regain  his  sight  ? 
Here  I  bite  the  rocks  —  the  rocks  —  like  a  mad 
beast  —  will  one  himgry  person  be  satiated? 
Here  I  hurl  myseh  at  you  — 

He  makes  several  quick  steps,  and  the  crowd  retreats  in 
horror. 

Anathema. 
That's  right,  David  !    Strike  them  ! 

Sarah. 

Retreating. 

Oh,  do  not  punish  us,  David. 

Wanderer. 
To  the  crowd. 

He  obeys  the  one  who  carried  him  off.    He  says : 


194  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

I  shall  not  give  anything  to  the  people.    He  spits 
and  says  he  spits  into  the  eyes  of  the  people.  .  .  . 

Cries  of  horror  and  growing  malice.  But  in  the  distance 
there  are  still  prayerful  wailings :  "Da-vid/  Da-vidI 
Da-vidl" 

Someone. 

He  dares  not  spit  at  the  people.    We  have  done  him 
no  wrong. 

Another  Voice. 

I  saw  it,  I  saw  it.    He  lifted  stones.    Defend  your- 
selves. 

Anathema. 

Be  on  your  guard;  they  will  soon  throw  stones  at 
you.    They  are  beasts. 

Wanderer. 
To  David. 

You  have  deceived  us,  you  Jew. 

Sarah. 
Do  not  dare  speak  like  this. 

Khessin. 
Seizes  the  Wanderer  by  the  chest. 
Another  word  and  I  shall  choke  you.  • 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  195 

David. 

Shouting. 

I  have  not  deceived  any  one.  I  have  given  every- 
thing away  and  have  nothing  left. 

Anathema. 
Do  you  hear,  fools  ?    David  has  nothing. 
Laughs. 
Nothing.    Am  I  not  teUing  the  truth,  David  ? 

Wanderer. 

Do  you  hear  ?  He  has  nothing.  Why,  then,  did 
he  call  us  ?  He  has  deceived  us.  He  has  deceived 
us. 

Khessin. 
Perplexed. 

But  that  is  true,  Sarah;  he  himseK  says  that  he 
has  nothing. 

Sarah. 

Do  not  mind  David.  He  is  ill.  He  is  tired.  He 
will  give  us  everything. 

Wanderer. 

With  sorrow  and  anger. 

How  could  you  do  that,  David  ?  What  have  you 
done  with  the  people,  accursed  one  ? 


196  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

Restless  Man. 

Listen  what  David,  who  has  brought  joy  to  man- 
kind, has  done  to  me.  He  promised  me  ten  roubles, 
and  then  took  it  back  and  gave  me  one  copeck,  and 
I  thought  that  the  copeck  was  not  really  a  copeck  — 
I  went  to  a  store  with  it  and  demanded  a  great 
deal,  but  they  laughed  and  chased  me  away  as  a 
thief.  You  are  the  thief.  You  are  the  robber; 
you  have  left  my  children  without  milk.  Here  is 
yoxir  copeck. 

Throws  the  copeck  at  David's  feet.  Many  other  people  follow 
his  example. 

Sarah. 

Defending  David. 

Do  not  dare  offend  David. 

David  weeps  silently,  his  face  covered  with  his  hands. 

Angry  Man. 

Traitor  !  He  raised  the  dead  out  of  their  graves  in 
order  to  make  sport  of  them.  Strike  him  with 
stones. 

Bends  down  to  lift  a  stone.  A  strong  wind  rises;  in  the 
distance  thunder-peals  resound.  The  mob  is  horror- 
stricken. 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  197 

David. 

Raising  his  head  and  baring  his  chest. 

Stone  me  —  I  am  a  traitor  ! 

Lotider  thunder-peals.    Anathema  laughs  merrily. 

Wanderer. 

Traitor !     Stone    him !     He    has    deceived    us ! 
He  has  betrayed  us !    He  has  Ked  to  us ! 

Confusion.     They   advance   towards  David,  lifting  stones; 
some  flee,  sobbing. 

David. 

Take  me.    I  am  going  to  you. 

Anathema. 
Where  ?    They  will  kill  you  ! 

David. 
You  are  my  enemy.    Leave  me. 
Releases  himself  from  his  grasp. 

Wanderer. 

Raising  a  stone  above  his  head. 
Back !    Satan ! 


198  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

Anathema. 
Hastily. 

Curse  them,  David.  They  will  soon  put  you  to 
death.     Quick ! 

David  lifts  his  arms  and  sinks  dcnon,  struck  by  a  stone.  Almost 
in  silence,  grumbling,  they  hurl  stones  upon  his  mo- 
tionless body.  Thunder-peals.  Anathema  is  laughing. 
Suddenly  a  woman  screams.  Then  another.  All  are 
shouting.  The  mob  runs  away.  The  last  one  lifts 
a  stone  to  throw  it  on  David's  head,  but  looks  around 
and  finding  himself  alone,  lets  the  stone  fall  out  of  his 
hand  and  runs  away  with  a  wild  outcry. 

Anathema. 

Swaying  himself  in  every  direction,  he  leaps  upon  a  rock, 
jumps  down,  then  up  again. 

Ah,  you  have  triumphed,  David  ! 

Laughter. 

Look !  Look  how  the  herd  you  have  cursed  is 
fleeing.  Ha,  ha  !  They  are  falling  from  the  rocks. 
Ha,  ha  !  They  are  hurling  themselves  into  the  sea. 
Ha !  They  are  trampling  children  under  their 
feet.  Look,  David,  —  they  are  trampling  upon 
children.  You  have  done  it.  Great  and  mighty 
David  Leizer!  Favorite  son  of  God!  You  have 
done  it.    Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

He  whirls  around,  madly  laughing. 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  199 

Ah,  where  shall  I  go  with  my  joy?  Ah,  where 
shall  I  go  with  my  tidings  ?  the  earth  is  too  small 
for  it !  East  and  West !  North  and  South ! 
Look  and  listen.  David,  who  has  brought  joy 
to  mankind,  is  put  to  death  by  mankind  and 
by  God.  And  upon  his  ill-smelling  corpse  I  — 
Anathema  —  will  put  my  foot. 

To  heaven. 

Do  you  hear?    Answer,  if  you  can. 

He  tramples  upon  David's  body.  Then  a  groan  is  heard, 
and  David's  grey,  blood-stained  head  lifls  itself, 
quivering  strangely. 

Anathema. 
Retreating. 

You  are  still  alive  ?    You  have  hed  even  this  time. 
David. 

Crawls. 

I  am  coming  to  you.  Wait  for  me,  Sarah.  One 
moment. 

Anathema. 

Bending  over,  examines  David. 

You  are  crawling?  Like  myself?  Like  a  dog? 
After  them  ? 


200  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

David. 

In  the  agony  of  death. 

Oh,  I  cannot  reach  them.  Carry  me,  Nullius. 
Do  I  say  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  stone  me? 
Oh,  let  them  stone  me.  Carry  me,  Nullius. 
I  shall  lie  down  quietly  on  the  threshold,  I  shall 
only  look  through  the  crevice  and  see  how  the  little 
children  are  eating.  .  .  .  Oh,  my  beard.  .  .  .  Oh, 
my  terrible  beard.  .  .  .  Oh,  don't  be  afraid,  my 
httle  one,  —  you  alone  are  laughing.  My  little 
children,  my  tiny  little  children.  .  .  . 

Anathema. 
Stamping  his  foot. 

You  are  mistaken,  David.  You  are  dead.  And 
your  children  are  dead.  The  earth  is  dead  —  dead 
—  dead.    Look. 

David  rises  with  difficulty  and  looks  into  the  distance,  his  weak 
hands  otUstretched. 

David. 

I  see,  Nullius.    My  old  friend  —  my  old  friend, 

stay  here,  I  beg  you  —  and  I  shall  go  to  them. 

Do  you  know,  NuUius  .  .  . 

Confused. 

I  think  that  I  found  a  copeck.  ... 


ACT  v]  ANATHEMA  201 

Laughs  quietly. 

I  told  you,  Nullius,  to  examine  that  paper.  Abra- 
ham Khessin,  my  friend  — 

Firmly. 

Abraham  Khessin  is  my  friend.  .  .  . 

He  sinks  dawn  and  dies. 

Thunder  in  the  distance.    It  is  dark;  the  sun,  red,  is  seen 
on  the  horizon,  near  the  water.    It  sets. 

Anathema. 
Bending  over  him. 

Is  it  true  this  time  ?    Are  you  dead  ?    Or  do  you 

lie  again  ?    No  —  it  is  an  honest  death  now.    Let 

me  have  your  fist.     Open  it.    You  don't  want  to  ? 

But  I  am  stronger  than  you. 

Rises  and  examines  what  David  had  in  his  hand. 

A  copeck! 

Throws  it  dawn  with  contempt.    Pushes  David  with  his  foot. 

Farewell,  fool.  To-morrow  people  will  find  your 
body  here  and  will  bury  you  with  pomp,  according 
to  the  custom  of  the  people.  Kind-hearted  mur- 
derers, they  love  those  they  kill.  And  out  of  the 
rocks  with  which  they  stoned  you  for  your  love, 
they  will  erect  a  tall,  crooked,  and  stupid  tombstone. 
And  in  order  to  enliven  the  stupid,  dead  pile  of 
stone,  they  will  put  me  on  the  top. 


202  ANATHEMA  [act  v 

He  laughs.     Then  he  suddenly  breaks  of  his  laughter  and 
assumes  a  haughty  pose. 

Who  shall  wrench  the  victory  from  the  hands  of 
Anathema  ?    The  strong  I  kill,  the  weak  I  force  to 
whirl  about  in  an  intoxicating  dance  —  a  mad 
dance  —  a  deviKsh  dance. 
He  strikes  the  ground  with  his  foot. 

Be  subdued,  O  earth,  and  bring  me  your  gifts 
humbly !  Kill,  bum,  betray,  O  man,  in  the  name 
of  your  master !  I  steer  my  boat  over  a  sea  of 
blood  which  smells  so  sweetly,  —  and  my  sails  are 
burning  red  — 

To  heaven. 

To  you,  for  an  answer !    Not  as  a  dog  crawling 
on  his  belly,  but  as  a  distinguished  guest,  as  the 
reigning  prince  of  the  earth,  I  shall  come  sailing  to 
your  mute  shores. 
Majestically. 

Be  prepared.    I  shall  demand  an  exact  answer. 

Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Disappears  in  the  darkness^  bursting  into  laughter. 

Curtain. 


EPILOGUE. 

Nothing  has  happened;  nothing  has  changed.  As  before, 
the  earth  is  weighted  dawn  by  the  heavy  iron  Gates, 
closed  from  time  immemorial,  beyond  which  dwells 
in  silence  and  in  mystery  the  Beginning  of  every  being, 
the  Supreme  Wisdom  of  the  universe.  A  nd  the  Guard- 
ian of  the  Entrances  is  just  as  silent  and  as  sternly 
motionless  as  before.  Nothing  has  happened;  nothing 
has  changed. 

The  grey  light,  as  grey  as  the  rocks,  is  terrible;  the  place  is 
terrible,  but  Anathema  likes  it.  And  he  appears 
again;  but  he  does  not  crawl  on  his  belly  like  a  dog; 
nor  does  he  hide  himself  beyond  the  rocks  like  a  thief. 
Like  a  conqueror,  he  is  trying  to  seal  his  victory  by  his 
haughty  gait,  by  the  importance  of  his  slow  movements. 
But  as  the  Devil  can  never  be  truthful,  and  as  there  are 
no  bounds  to  his  doubts,  he  brings  his  duality  even  into 
this:  He  walks  like  a  conqueror,  yet  he  is  afraid; 
he  throws  his  head  back  high  like  a  sovereign,  and  yet 
he  laughs  at  his  exaggerated  self-importance;  a  gloomy 
and  malicious  clown,  he  longs  for  greatness;  and 
forced  to  laugh,  he  despises  laughter. 

Thus,  assuming  important  airs  beyond  measure,  he  goes  up 

to  the  middle  of  the  mountain  and  waits  there  in  a 

haughty    pose.    But    his    uncertain    importance    is 

devoured  by  the  silence,  even  as  dry  wood  is  devoured 

203 


204  ANATHEMA  [epilogue 

by  fire  —  and  he  begins  to  hurry,  without  holding  out 
the  pause,  like  a  poor  musician,  striving  to  conceal 
himself  and  his  doubts  and  his  odious  fear  in  a  vast 
deal  of  jests,  in  loud  shouting  and  in  rapid  gestures. 
He  stamps  his  foot  and  shouts  in  a  voice  of  assumed  stern- 
ness. 

Anathema. 

Why  are  there  no  trumpets  here?  Why  no 
celebration?  Why  are  these  old  and  rusty  gates 
closed  ?  And  why  does  no  one  hand  me  the  keys  ? 
Is  it  proper  in  decent  circles  to  meet  thus  an  emi- 
nent guest,  the  reigning  prince  of  the  earth,  which 
is  friendly  to  us  ?  Only  the  doorkeeper  is  here,  ap- 
parently asleep,  and  no  one  else.    It  is  bad  —  bad ! 

He  bursts  into  laughter,  and  stretching  himself  wearily,  sits 
down  upon  a  rock.  He  speaks  humbly  and  with  an 
air  of  fatigue. 

But  I  am  not   vainglorious.     Trumpets,  flowers, 

and    shouting  —  all    this    is    useless !    I    myself 

heard  at  one  time  how  the  people  trumpeted  glory 

for  David  Leizer,  but  what  has  come  of  it  ? 

He  heaves  a  sigh. 

It  is  sad  to  think  of  it. 

He  whistles  mournfully. 

You  have  surely  heard  of  the  misfortune  that  has 
come  upon  my  friend  David  Leizer  ?    I  remember 


epilogue]  anathema  205 

when  I  last  chatted  with  you,  —  you  did  not 
know  this  name  then.  ...  But  do  you  know  it 
now  ?  It  is  a  name  to  be  proud  of !  When  I 
left  the  earth,  the  entire  earth  in  a  million  of 
hungry  throats  called  this  glorious  name,  shouting : 
"  David  is  a  deceiver  !  David  is  a  traitor  !  David 
is  a  Har !"  Then  it  seemed  to  me  that  some  of 
the  people  reproached  also  another  one  —  for  my 
honest  friend,  who  died  an  untimely  death,  did 
not  act  so  incautiously  in  his  own  name. 

The  Guardian  is  silent.     And  Anathema  shouts  now  with 
an  air  of  real  triumph,  breathing  malice. 

The  name  !  Call  the  name  of  him  who  has  ruined 
David  and  thousands  of  people !  I,  Anathema, 
have  no  heart,  my  eyes  have  dried  up  from  the  fire 
of  Hell,  and  there  are  no  tears  in  them,  but  if  the 
tears  were  there  I  would  have  given  them  all  to 
David.  I  have  no  heart,  but  there  was  an  instant 
when  something  Uve  trembled  in  my  chest,  and  I 
was  frightened :  I  wondered  whether  a  heart  could 
be  bom.  I  saw  how  David  was  perishing  and 
thousands  of  people  with  him,  I  saw  how  his 
spirit,  grown  dark,  curled  up  piteously  like  a  dead 
worm  in  the  sun,  was  hurled  down  into  the  abyss 
of  non-existence,  into  my  abode  of  darkness  and 
death.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  are  you  not  the  one  who  has 
ruined  David  ? 


2o6  ANATHEMA  [epilogue 

Guardian  of  the  Entrances. 

David  has  attained  immortality,  and  he  lives 
forever  in  the  deathlessness  of  fire.  David  has 
attained  immortahty,  and  he  Hves  forever  in  the 
deathlessness  of  light,  which  is  life. 

Dumfounded,  Anathema  falls  to  the  ground  and  lies  motion- 
less for  an  instant.  Then  he  lifts  his  head,  which  is  as 
angry  as  that  of  a  serpent.  He  rises  and  speaks 
with  the  calm  of  boundless  wrath. 

Anathema. 

You  lie !  Forgive  me  my  daring,  but  you  lie. 
Surely  your  power  is  immense  —  and  you  can 
give  immortality  to  a  dead  worm  that  has  turned 
black  from  the  sun.  But  would  that  be  just? 
Or  do  the  numbers  he  to  which  you,  too,  must 
submit?  Or  do  aU  the  scales  lie,  and  is  all  your 
world  nothing  but  one  He,  —  a  cruel  and  mad 
game  of  laws,  a  malicious  laugh  of  a  despot  at 
the  dumbness  and  submissiveness  of  the  slave? 

He  speaks  gloomily,  in  the  grief  of  deathless  blindness. 

Anathema. 

I  am  tired  of  searching.  I  have  grown  tired  of 
life,  of  aimless  tortures  —  of  the  quest  after 
the  ever  elusive.     Give  me  death,  but  do  not 


epilogue]  anathema  207 

torment  me  with  ignorance;  answer  me  honestly, 
even  as  I  am  honest  in  my  uprising  as  a  slave. 
Did  not  David  love?  Answer.  Did  not  David 
give  his  soul  away?  Answer.  And  did  they 
not  stone  David,  who  had  given  his  soul  away  ? 
Answer. 

Guardian. 

Yes.  They  stoned  David,  who  had  given  his 
soul  away. 

Anathema. 

Smiling  darkly. 

Now  you  are  honest  and  you  answer  me  with 
modesty.  Without  having  stilled  the  hunger 
of  the  himgry,  without  having  restored  sight 
to  the  bhnd,  without  having  brought  to  life  those 
who  had  died  innocently,  —  having  stirred  up 
dissension  and  dispute  and  cruel  bloodshed,  for 
the  people  have  already  risen  against  one  another 
and  are  committing  violence,  murder,  and  plunder 
in  the  name  of  David,  —  did  not  David  mani- 
fest the  powerlessness  of  love,  and  did  he  not 
create  a  great  evil  which  could  be  numbered  and 
weighed  ? 

Guardian. 
Yes.    David  has  done  that  which  you  say;  and 


208  ANATHEMA  [epilogue 

the  people  have  done  that  of  which  you  accuse 
them.  And  the  numbers  do  not  He,  and  the 
scales  are  correct,  and  every  measure  is  what 
it  is. 

Anathema. 
Triumphantly. 

You  say  that ! 

Guardian. 

But  that  which  you  do  not  know,  Anathema, 
is  not  measured  with  a  measure,  and  is  not  cal- 
culated in  numbers,  and  is  not  weighed  on  scales. 
Light  has  no  boundaries,  nor  is  there  any  bound- 
ary for  the  glow  of  fire  —  there  is  a  red  fire,  and 
there  is  a  yellow  fire,  and  there  is  a  white  fire, 
in  which  the  sun  burns  like  a  yellow  straw,  —  and 
there  is  still  another  unknown  fire,  whose  name 
no  one  knows  —  for  there  is  no  limit  to  the  glow 
of  fire.  Having  died  in  numbers,  having  died 
in  measures  and  in  weights,  David  has  attained 
immortaUty  in  the  deathlessness  of  fire. 

Anathema. 
You  lie  again ! 
He  flings  himself  about  on  the  ground  in  despair. 

Anathema. 
Oh,  who  will  help  the  honest  Anathema?    He 


epilogue]  anathema  209 

is  being  deceived  eternally.  Oh,  who  will  help 
the  unfortunate  Anathema?  His  immortaUty  is 
deception.  Oh,  weep,  you  who  have  grown  fond 
of  the  Devil;  wail  and  grieve,  you  who  strive  for 
truth,  who  honor  wisdom,  —  Anathema  is  being 
deceived  eternally.  When  I  win,  he  takes  it 
away  from  me.  When  I  come  out  victorious, 
he  fetters  the  conqueror  in  chains,  he  pricks  out 
the  eyes  of  the  ruler,  and  to  the  haughty  he  gives 
the  traits  of  a  dog,  a  wagging  and  quivering  tail. 
David,  David,  I  was  a  friend  to  you,  —  tell  him 
that  he  Ues. 

Ee  puts  his  head  down  on  his  ouistrekhed  arms,  like  a  dog, 
and  wails  bitterly. 

Where  is  the  truth  ?  Where  is  the  truth  ?  Where 
is  the  truth  ?  Was  it  not  crushed  with  stones  ?  Is 
it  not  lying  in  the  ditch  together  with  the  car- 
rion? Oh,  the  light  has  died  out  from  the  world! 
.  .  .  Oh,  the  world  has  no  eyes!  .  .  .  The  crows 
have  pecked  them  out.  .  .  .  Where  is  the  truth  ? 
Where  is  the  truth  ?    Where  is  the  truth  ? 

Plaintively. 

Tell  me,  will  Anathema  ever  learn  the  truth? 

Guardian* 
No. 


2IO  ANATHEMA  [epilogue 

Anathema. 

Tell  me,  will  Anathema  ever  see  the  gates  open? 
Shall  I  ever  see  your  face? 

GUAEDIAN. 

No.  Never.  My  face  is  open,  but  you  see  it 
not.  My  speech  is  loud,  but  you  hear  it  not. 
My  commands  are  clear,  but  you  know  them 
not.  Anathema.  And  you  will  never  see,  and 
you  will  never  hear,  and  you  will  never  know, 
Anathema,  unfortunate  spirit,  deathless  in  num- 
bers, ever  aUve  in  measure  and  in  weight,  but 
as  yet  unborn  to  life. 

Anathema  leaps  to  his  feet. 

Anathema. 

You  lie,  —  silent  dog,  you  who  have  robbed  the 
world  of  the  truth,  you  who  have  barred  the  en- 
trances with  iron!  Farewell;  I  like  a  fair  game, 
and  I  pay  when  I  lose.  And  if  you  will  not  pay, 
I  shall  cry  before  the  whole  imiverse :  "  Help  !  I 
have  been  robbed  !  " 

He  bursts  into  laughter.     Whistling,  he  retreats  a  few  steps, 
and  turns  around.    He  speaks  unconcernedly. 

Anathema. 
I  ]j3,ve  nothing  to  do,  so  I  roam  about  the  world. 


epilogue]  anathema  211 

Do  you  know  where  I  am  going  now?  I  shall 
go  to  the  grave  of  David  Leizer.  Like  a  griev- 
ing widow,  like  the  son  of  a  father  who  had  been 
murdered  from  behind  the  comer  by  a  traitor's 
blow,  —  I  shall  sit  down  on  David  Leizer 's  grave 
and  shall  weep  so  bitterly,  and  cry  so  loudly,  and 
call  so  terribly,  that  not  one  honest  soul  will  re- 
main that  would  not  curse  the  murderer.  Insane 
from  grief,  I  shall  point  to  the  right  and  to  the 
left.  .  .  .  Was  not  this  the  one  who  killed  him? 
Did  not  that  one  assist  in  the  bloody  crime? 
Did  not  that  one  betray  ?  I  shall  cry  so  bitterly, 
I  shall  accuse  so  sternly,  that  all  on  earth  will 
become  murderers  and  hangmen,  in  the  name  of 
Leizer,  in  the  name  of  David  Leizer,  in  the  name 
of  David,  who  brought  joy  to  mankind !  And 
when  from  the  heap  of  corpses,  of  filthy,  foul- 
smelling,  and  disgusting  corpses  I  shall  announce 
to  the  people  that  you  are  the  one  who  killed 
David  and  the  people,  —  they  will  believe  me. 
Bursts  into  laughter. 

For  you  have  such  a  bad  reputation  —  of  a  liar, 
a  deceiver,  a  murderer.    Good-by. 

He  goes  of  laughing.  His  laughter  resounds  once  more 
from  the  depths.  And  then  everything  relapses  into 
silence. 

Curtain. 


THE  NOVELS  OF  IVAN  S.  TURGENEV 

In  Fifteen  Volumes.    Translated  by  Constance  Garnett, 
with  an  Introduction  by  Edward  Garnett.  $  18.00 

"  In  his  introduction  to  the  final  volume  of  this  edition,  containing 
'  The  Jew,'  and  other  stories,  Mr.  Garnett  attempts  to  define  TurgeniefPs 
place  in  modern  European  literature.  While  he  stands  in  the  rank  of 
the  great  novelists  with  Richardson,  Fielding,  Scott,  Balzac,  Dickens, 
Thackeray,  Meredith,  Tolstoi,  Flaubert,  and  Maupassant,  as  the  supreme 
artist  he  is  the  greatest  of  them  all.  His  art  is  both  wider  in  its  range 
and  more  beautiful  in  its  forms  than  the  work  of  any  modern  European 
artist.  It  reproduces  and  recreates  human  life  exactly  as  it  is,  and  he 
fills  his  novels  'with  the  breath  of  poetry  where  others  in  general 
spoke  the  word  of  prose.' 

"And  thereupon  Mr.  Garnett  sets  down  for  us  the  comparative 
claims  of  Turgenieff  and  his  brother  novelists.  While  Fielding  and 
Richardson  speak  for  the  country  and  town,  Turgenieff  speaks  for  the 
nation ;  while  Balzac  marches  before  us  an  endless  column  of  human 
figures,  TurgeniefPs  characters  '  reveal  themselves  as  wider  apart  in  the 
range  of  their  spirit,  as  more  mysteriously  alive  in  their  inevitable 
essence,  than  do  Meredith's  or  Flaubert's,  than  do  Thackeray's  or 
Maupassant's.'  In  short,  Turgenieff  is  the  supreme  artist,  and  these 
fifteen  volumes  of  his  works  are  put  before  us  in  order  that  we  may 
realize  and  understand  that  fact."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"Turgenev  inherited  with  his  country  blood  a  great  and  abiding 
passion  for  natural  freshness,  beauty,  and  purity.  .  .  . 

"  A  man  so  faithful  and  so  sensitive  coidd  not  be  satisfied  with  an 
art  in  the  faintest  degree  pretentious  or  time-serving.  His  sincerity 
permitted  no  artificial  glamour  to  be  cast  over  his  fiction.  Unlike 
Balzac,  he  cared  not  at  all  to  crowd  everything  into  his  work  that 
might  cause  amazement  or  wonder.  His  art  is  singularly  chaste  and 
sparing.  The  vividness  of  his  narrative  might  be  called  limpid.  It  is 
secured  not  only  by  a  singularly  natural  style,  but  by  a  construction  so 
perfected  that  its  complexity  is  utterly  unapparent,  and  the  author's 
cleverness  never  suspected. 

"Turgenev's  cleverness  is  so  inconspicuous  that  one  almost  doubts 
its  existence.  He  seems  to  give  one  the  results  of  personal  experience, 
not  personal  observation.  .  .  .  Turgenev's  supreme  gift  is  that  of 
vivifying  character.  We  know  his  men  and  his  women  body  and 
mind  and  soul.  Their  weakness  is  our  weakness  and  their  strength 
ours.  In  each  portrait  there  is  a  bit  of  our  own  nature,  and  our 
sympathy  is  peculiarly  personal."  —  Chicago  Post. 


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